Destiny's Control xx Going Grey 2
by Kiristeen
Summary: His Magic and temper flaring and trapped at Grimauld Place, Harry struggles to control his new power.  Mrs. Black pays the price for pissing him off, and Snape certainly isn't helping! Sequel to "A mother's Love" NOT H/Hr
1. Chapter 1

Sequel to "A Mother's Love"

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plotline contained in this story. I will make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. It is solely for entertainment value.

AN: I'm not entirely certain of the exact date that Hogwarts lets out for the summer, but for the purposes of this story, it's in early June.  
AN: This story continues only a couple weeks after the end of "A Mother's Love". It is a **Sequel** So won't make any sense unless you've read that one first.  
AN: No pairings yet.

**Title:** Destiny's Control - Episode Two in Going Grey  
**Author:** Kiristeen ke Alaya  
**genre:** Harry Potter  
**Series:** Going Grey  
**Pairings:** In this Episode **none**. In the "Going Grey" Series **Canon to start. HG/SS, HP/LM, DM/?, RW/? **  
**Series Warnings:** Slash and Het. Semi-dark but not evil Harry. Powerful, independent Harry (not outrageously superpowered) Violence, adult and sexual situations.  
**Series Rating:** R  
**Episode Warnings:** Angst, minor violence  
**Episode Rating:** PG-13

**Episode Summary:** Harry's summer is spent trying to come to terms with the new changes in his life and trying to learn to control his new magic and his temper. Snape certainly isn't helping!  
**Series Summary:** Harry's life is one disaster after another, and he's simply surviving, reacting as events unfold. After one too many changes, Harry grabs hold of his life and his destiny, and for the first time in his life begins to control what's happening to him, instead of letting it control him.  
Enjoy! Kiri

xxxxxxxxxx  
Chapter One  
xxxxxxxxxx

Harry drifted up through the layers of sleep, protesting the entire way. When it became obvious more sleep would be impossible he slowly sat up, a frown marring his expression. Waking up meant leaving the cocoon of forgetfulness. Sighing heavily, he flopped back onto his bed. He was _so_ not ready to be up yet. For the past two weeks he'd been stuck in Grimauld; two weeks of hell, trying to survive grief that felt like his parents had died last week, instead of 15 years ago; two weeks of desperately trying to function well enough to get a hold on his new power.

It really didn't help that he did _not_ want to be here. There were simply too many reminders of Sirius. Hogwarts would have been far better - even if Snape would be there as well. At least he _liked_ being there. Unfortunately, he'd not been allowed to stay there more than the single night before being given his mother's pensieve. He had not even been asked his opinion on any of it. Through it all, he felt like such a bloody pawn, like a small piece of porceline on Ron's chess board.

As with every morning thus far, he fought back unwanted tears. Everything new he'd been through this ever-lasting summer had simply piled on top of what he was already feeling about Sirius' death, and, quite frankly, Harry felt like he was drowning in it all. He sat up abruptly, attempting to shake off the morose, angry feelings. It didn't work as well as he would have liked - it never did these days - simply merging into the lingering anger he felt toward the headmaster. He snorted. That was easier to deal with. It, at least, was familiar.

Something he'd realized very shortly after having been returned here; the man had to have placed him with the Dursley's against his parents' wishes. Her memory had told him that much. The woman had obviously not expected him to have even _known_ about Aunt Petunia, let alone have met her. That told him, in no uncertain terms, that he shouldn't have been living with the woman. _Line up your pieces._

They'd put _Snape_ on his list of guardians before her! Considering how well his father and Snape got along - at least as far as he could see. That really said something.

He shook his head angrily. He'd already tried to talk to the headmaster about it, twice, but the older wizard refused to say anything about it beyond his standard 'it was the safest place for you'. The real kicker, of course, was the blasted man still expected Harry to be willing to talk to him about everything else that was happening. _ Make sure your pieces know their place._

He leapt out of bed suddenly, as if moving quickly might let him outrun all the overwhelming things he was dealing with. He snorted. Maybe _not_ dealing with might be a better thought.

He shook himself. He refused to bloody think about it any more - at least today. He just needed time, maybe that would help him understand, help him deal with it all a bit better. Right now, it was all just too fresh, to raw to leave him feeling anything but helpless. Unfortunately, his frustration induced energy waned quickly, dying completely by the time he'd finished dressing and reached the door out of his room.

It occurred to him suddenly that, all things considered, he didn't want to actually _go_ anywhere, or do anything. Slumping, he turned back toward his desk, hoping that he could get caught up in reading. Concentrating on something like that was almost as good as sleeping. It was a slim chance, he supposed, never having been an avid reader, but a slim chance was better than none.

He'd stolen back to the library, the same day they'd viewed his mum's memories there and picked up the books he'd found. Before leaving, however, he had pulled out his 'inner Hermione' and scoured the library for anything that might be useful to him at the moment. What he'd managed to find had surprised him, and left him with enough reading material to keep his female best friend busy for a least a couple weeks. He, on the other hand, had enough reading material for the rest of the summer - if not longer.

Thankfully, since he'd been stuck at Grimauld, the headmaster had allowed him to take the books with them when they'd left. He'd only had one condition, that the books were returned to the school in the very same condition they'd left it in. That certainly hadn't been a difficult promise to make. He wasn't exactly hard on his books, and there would be no Dudley around to mess them up for him.

His hoped died almost the moment he opened the book, however, his thoughts automatically returning to where he wanted them least. Of course, boredom and frustration aside, he was actually fairly proud of himself. Despite several instances of frustration and a couple of angry outbursts - the one moments before being a prime example - he hadn't had a _magical_ outburst in nearly three days. _that_ was something of a huge relief to him. Ever since he'd got back here, he'd been tiptoeing around, afraid to react to anything at all, in case he broke something when he lost control. He was so bloody angry all the time, so it wasn't exactly a far fetched idea.

But, between exhausting himself physically, meditation twice a day - at least - and practicing occlumency, he seemed to be getting a handle on the worst of his current problems. Of course, that 'handle' hadn't been truly tested angainst anyone he tended to get truly angry with, ie Snape or Malfoy - even the headmaster hadn't been there in several days. It was, however, still progress.

In fact, one book in particular had been especially helpful. It had stressed the fact that good physical condition had a direct affect on both mental health _and_ magical control - as well as power. While he had less than no need for more power - heaven forbid! - he did have need of more control. In fact, he needed that control rather desperately. He still had his mother's . . . 'gift' to look forward to, and he really needed to have at least some control of what he already had before that happened.

Consequently, he'd been killing two birds with one stone - so to speak - by exercising as much as he could handle. Of course, that meant he ended most days barely able to move! It, however, seemed to be helping him in many ways - not the least of which was that by the time he crawled into bed each night, he was so exhausted that he had virtually no trouble getting sleep - and not much _staying_ asleep. Also, he'd never felt this good in his entire life.

A part of him was bothered by that, however, making him wonder how he could be feeling so good physically, when he felt so utterly miserable mentally.

Of course, Harry thought with a small grin, the fact that the minister hadn't been able to do sod all against him for what had happened at Privet Drive had relieved a lot of the stress he'd been under all by itself. Oh, the man _had_ tried, but not even he could convince Amelia Bones that veritiserum, or even pensieve testimony was required, not when the 'vicitm' of the incident was freely saying that he had not only willingly participated in everything that had occurred, but that he had actually orchestrated the whole thing of his own accord. He had even told the director that the way he had entered the house would have made anyone think they were under attack, so Harry's defensive expelliarmus was completely understandable.

That had been the one stumbling block that none of them had thought of when they'd all decided on this elaborate scheme. If Rutherford had been intent on bestowing Harry with his magic, why had he - Harry - cast underage defensive magic? Here, he had to admit that wizarding prejudices against muggles had actually played in his favor for once. Rutherford had simply shrugged and said he'd known the muggles wouldn't have let him in the house. Muggles were just _that_ way. They weren't smart enough to be reasoned with, after all. 'Everyone knew that'.

It had not surprised Harry in the least that the minister had bought the twisted drivel that Rutherford had been spouting; nothing the stupid man did surprised him any more. What _had_ done so, however, was that even Director Bones had appeared to buy it! He'd always thought she'd been rather intelligent. The person heading the department of law enforcement had to be, didn't they?

While, he wasn't about to go looking this particular gift horse in the mouth, he certainly hoped her apparent belief was based on the fact that she hadn't wanted to charge Harry with anything. Either that, or the fact that she didn't actually believe it, just believed that Rutherford did. Either way, he was going to do something about the prevailing attitude that muggles were stupid, simply because they didn't have magic. Magic and intelligence did _not_ go hand in hand. All anyone had to do was look at such prime examples as Crabbe and Goyle to know that!

Looking back, though, Harry suddenly realized that even Mrs. Weasley seemed to believe it - at least to a small degree. Even Mr. Weasley, with his obsession with the 'fascinating muggles' seemed to look on them as little more than pets that could do amazing things once in a while; as if their accomplishments were something far out of the ordinary.

That all, however, was for the far future. There wasn't really anything he could do about it at the moment. His plate was already far too full. Maybe he'd talk to Hermione about it eventually. He was pretty sure she'd be willing to help - all things considered.

Once the ministry pain had been dealt with - not that he'd dared to read the Daily Prophet since he'd spoken to the minister and the director - he'd spent half his time working frantically either physically or mentally, and half his time bored out of his mind. Yes, it bore repeating, even in the privacy of his own mind!

He shook his head again, semi disgusted with himself, and closed the book he hadn't managed to read even a single word from. Apparently, this was going to be one of those times he simply couldn't concentrate.

He jumped up. Maybe doing his first exercise round of the day would help. As he slowly moved through the series of exercises the 'good' book had recommended starting the day with, Harry finally gave up and allowed his thoughts free reign, letting himself think about what was _really_ worrying him.

Four days ago, the headmaster had sat down with him and explained what his mother had meant about 'growing into his powers'. Apparently, magical puberty hit at 16 and lasted roughly a month, during which time a wizard's - or witch's for that matter - power grew, fluctuating as it did so. So, not only would he be facing that horror - and would anyone have told him about it if this hadn't happened, stuck as he would have been at Privet Drive? It really was the sort of thing a bloke needed to know about ahead of time.

He snorted softly. Apparently, the school even made allowances for students whose birthdays fell between mid-August and late May - meaning most of them. He frowned. Hermione had turned 16 last year. He didn't remember anything weird going on with her magic? He supposed he'd have to ask.

Unfortunately, for him, he would also be facing the possibility that his mother's magic would be added to his own at the same time. He just hoped that didn't happen, that it had been too long. Could someone's magic stick around that long after they died? He didn't know for sure, but it seemed a bit far-fetched really. Barring that scenario, however, he just _really_ hoped it wouldn't happen all at once, or he was going to be back to square one with the control issue.

He sighed, completing the exercises that worked his arms and chest, and moved on to the set that worked his legs.

Hermione had been here with him for the last week - with her parents' permission - and had been helping him, lending moral support and books. The support wasn't helping the boredom much - _No_, Harry thought suddenly. He knew her presence did help. It kept him from going utterly barmy, even if it didn't truly stave off the incredible boredom of never being able to go outside. The books she'd brought with her, found in a muggle book store and thought looked interesting, had helped tremendously, though. Of course, there hadn't been anything on occlumency, but the meditation and anger management books had been informative. At least they'd helped with the outward signs of anger.

What Harry didn't understand was that they - meaning the headmaster and Remus - had kept her presence quiet. Almost no one knew she was there, which was odd, considering how often people were usually in and out of Grimauld - not even most of the Weasleys knew. He had no clue what everyone had been told to keep them away from headquarters, but whatever it was, it had been effective. The only people who'd been there in the last two weeks he'd been in residence had been Dumbledore, Snape, Mrs. Weasley, and Remus - and, of course, Hermione.

Remus. He couldn't figure out just what to tell Remus. He didn't even know what _he_ felt about the entire situation, how the bloody hell was he supposed to explain it to anyone else? He had to figure out something, though, because Remus deserved to know - at least to Harry's way of thinking - and because he had a message to pass on to the last of the true Marauders. He couldn't do that without explaining how he'd got the message in the first place. He tried to figure it out as he finished up with his warm down stretching.

A knock on his door startled him up and off the floor in a heartbeat; though, he snorted at his nervous reaction. Opening the door, he found Hermione there, grinning at him. He automatically grinned right back and stepped out of her way, allowing her to come into the room.

She was carrying a rather large tray of breakfast.

"I thought that maybe you might enjoy a picnic, Harry," she said brightly, setting the tray on the desk. Then, grabbing a blanket off the bed to spread on the floor, she placed the tray dead center.

"A picnic?" he asked, chuckling in disbelief. "Aren't those usually _outside_?"

She sniffed at him, obviously faking disdain. "Oh, ye of little imagination, Harry," she admonished lightly. "Since we can't go outside, I thought we'd bring a little of the outside to us.

He laughed fully then and settled across from her on the blanket. It was moments like these that made everything else bearable.

x-x-x

Hermione was a little worried. Okay, she was more than just a little worried. Harry was changing so much, so fast, this summer, and while she approved of most of the changes, she couldn't help but wonder if he was simply burying all the anger she'd seen last year, instead of actually coming to terms with it - and the things that caused it. If that was the case, it was bound to come out at some point, probably explode out, in fact. No doubt, it would happen at the worst possible time, too.

She almost snorted. It would probably all erupt when he was dealing with either Snape or Malfoy. Of course, lately, she'd been seeing an awful lot of resentment directed at the headmaster too. That was something Harry hadn't talked to her about; yet another thing that concerned her.

"Harry," she said quietly, setting her fork down, "promise me something."

Harry's eyes narrowed before he nodded. "If I can," he replied.

And that was _another_ thing! He was getting so . . . wary. She supposed it was a good thing overall, but a body was supposed to be able to trust their friends. "Promise me that you'll always talk to me."

Harry frowned, looking very confused suddenly. "Why wouldn't I talk to you?" he asked. "Are you planning on doing something to me that I really won't like?"

Hermione laughed. "That's not what I meant, Harry," she scolded.

"Oh. What did you mean, then?"

Hermione frowned, not wanting to say this the wrong way. "You've gone through a lot of changes this summer."

Her friend nodded, still looking quite lost.

"I just want you to know that, no matter what happens, what changes you go through, I'll be there for you. You can always talk to me if something is bothering you. In fact, I _want_ you to."

"You make it sound like you think I'm going crazy," he replied flatly.

"No!" Hermione exclaimed instantly. Damn! She knew she was going to mess this up. She was good at being bossy, not at being passively supportive. Unfortunately, bossy didn't help much with Harry. In fact, she suspected it did just the opposite, made him dig in his heels. She'd learned _that_ much just this last year, and she was trying something new, hoping it worked better . . . a lot better. No one knew better than she did that Harry needed support. Harry, himself, certainly seemed to forget it sometimes. He was always too busy protecting everyone else to bother with protecting himself. "You're becoming so . . . self-contained," she explained, or rather tried to explain. "I just don't want you to forget that you have help. You don't have to do it all alone."

Harry shrugged. "I don't know about 'self-contained', Hermione," he replied quietly. "I'm just tired of people dying because of mistakes I make."

"It's not your fault, Harry! It's-"

"I know!" Harry snapped. "It's Voldemort's. That's not my point."

"Okay, Harry," Hermione replied softly. "Sorry."

"No," Harry denied, looking instantly apologetic. "I'm the one who's sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you.

Hermione was amazed at how quickly Harry had gone from angry to calm. He hadn't been able to do that a mere month ago, and that simply reinforced her worries. "There's nothing wrong with being angry, Harry. Heaven knows you've got enough to be angry about. What matters is what you do about that anger," she said carefully.

Harry grinned, then, startling her. "Have you been reading the same books I have?" he asked.

Hermione ducked sheepishly.

"You have!" he exclaimed, laughing. "What? Can't stand that I'm learning something you're not?" he asked, mischief dancing in his eyes and his expression.

It was good to see, even if she was the butt of the joke. "No," she huffed with mock anger, but almost immediately turned serious again. "I just thought that I might be able to help more, if I knew what information you were working from."

"Thanks, Hermione."

She shrugged. "What else are bookworm friends for?"

He laughed again. "Good point." Shaking his head, it was apparently his turn to become serious, because he frowned slightly. "I hope you know, Hermione; you mean more to me than that."

Hermione's eyes widened. "More than what, Harry?"

"You're more than just a bookworm. You're my best friend, girl version."

"Oh!" She exclaimed. Relieved, she let out a rather nervous sounding chuckle.

Harry almost fell over laughing in response to it. "You should have seen the look on your face!" he exclaimed between gasps of air.

She glared. "Well, you scared me for a minute there, Harry."

He smirked. "What would be so bad about it, anyway?" he asked, as fake an innocent expression on his face that Hermione had _ever_ seen anywhere.

She purposely narrowed her eyes at him. "Harry James Potter, brother of my heart, it would be bad on so many levels it isn't even funny."

Snickering, Harry nodded. "I have to agree, actually. Kind of squicky, really."

Hermione nodded emphatically. It would be like getting involved with a 'real' brother. Gross! She shuddered.

"Yes, you're definitely sister material," Harry said, his grin turning rather sinister. "A pain in the-"

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, cutting him off.

Harry's eyes danced, telling her more than words could that he hadn't been about to say _quite_ what it sounded like. She huffed, but recovered quickly. "Okay, enough changing of the subject, Harry."

He sighed and nodded.

"I know you're working on controlling the temper you seemingly gained last year," she began, continuing hurriedly as she saw Harry open his mouth to interrupt, if not protest. "And that's a good thing, really it is. It's just that if you need someone to rant to, that won't take it personally, you can come to me. Controlling your temper doesn't mean you have to keep it all inside until it all explodes."

Harry smirked at her, instantly making her wary. "The person I'm most likely to rant about would be Snape," he said, watching her rather intently.

"Pr- Oh! I see your point."

"Yeah. It's kinda hard to feel free to rant when I'm getting scolded for not being respectful."

"Okay," she replied slowly, hoping she could hold herself to this, "when we're alone, and you let me know 'rant mode', I will _try_ to remember not to admonish you about respect."

Harry grinned again - something Hermione was glad to see was happening more often. True smiles had been pretty much missing from Harry's list of expressions for almost a year now.

"Sorry, Hermione, but I'll believe that when I see it."

She huffed at him again, but couldn't help but laugh. She knew she was just as stubborn about addressing the professors respectfully at all times as she had been about S.P.E.W. While, she had outwardly calmed about the house elf issue - note 'outwardly' - she hadn't let up at all about the former one.

x-x-x

Harry frowned, trying to figure out a way to pass the time. Hermione was buried in the library, finishing up her last summer essay. She'd spent so much time supporting him this summer that she had 'neglected' her homework. He hadn't told her that he still had two of his own to do. There was still over a month of summer left, plenty of time to finish that.

Unfortunately, as much as doing at least one of them would fill the time, he didn't feel up to studying right at that moment. They'd breakfasted already and Mrs. Weasley had once again turned down his offer of clean up assistance - something she'd done every morning she'd been there to make them breakfast, beyond clearing the table. He'd also already done his morning exercises.

That left him at loose ends, again. He'd felt that way since setting foot in this place, unfortunately. He was used to having something to do almost every single minute of the day during his summers, to having little to no time to do what _he_ wanted to do - barring when he was locked away, of course.

He'd taken to wandering the house and had already found nooks and crannies he had never realized were even there. Wandering, while better than being stuck in his room, simply wasn't enough any more. He was so stuffed full of energy that he thought he just might go nutters. Restless didn't come near close enough to describing how he was feeling.

Unfortunately, he knew damn well that there was absolutely no way anyone was going to allow him out of the house for any reason, let alone to simply go running - the only thing he could currently think of that might tire him out enough. Quidditch would work, of course, but he had nowhere to play that, nor anyone to play against.

Despite that, he had to figure out a way to work off this excess energy. Up until now, he'd been doing mostly stationary type exercises - running in place, jumping and the like. He was getting good at that, lasting longer and longer each day, but, like the aimless wandering, it just wasn't enough. The itch beneath his skin had been building up over the last couple weeks and he really felt like he was overflowing with it. He knew it was only a matter of time and his head was simply going to pop off and all that energy was going to come erupting out of his headless neck!

It certainly hadn't helped at all that last night had been full of even more revelations - like he needed any more - followed by desperately trying force himself to sit still long enough to concentrate on his essays. The headmaster had dropped by and let him know that Sirius had made him his heir. That had confused him a little. How had Sirius done that? He had always thought that with his godfather being on the run from the ministry, the man hadn't been able to access his money and such. How could he have named any heir at all in that case?

According to the headmaster, that while the man couldn't actually spend any of his own money - considering he couldn't _get_ to Gringotts - he still got to decide who got it after he died. Frankly, it hadn't made a knut's worth of sense to Harry! The headmaster had not even known what all, exactly, Harry had inherited, beyond number 12, just that it had been almost everything Sirius had been entitled to.

He fumed, his aimless wandering becoming angry strides. He didn't bloody want Grimauld place. He didn't want _any_ of it. He would far rather have Sirius back and let him have it all. Shaking his head, trying to clear it of such morose thoughts, he realized he needed to do some mindless energy burning activity even more now. That certainly left out going back to trying to do homework until after he'd worn himself out.

He stopped cold in the ground floor foyer, a grin transforming his expression as he suddenly eyed the stairs speculatively. _That's it!_ he thought with anticipation. If that didn't wear him out, nothing would. In fact, it might work even better than doing it outside. It would certainly be more of a work out! His grin widening, he darted up the stairs.

By the time he reached the fourth floor, he was already out of breath, but kept running down the hall. Turning, once he'd reached the end, he started back down again.

_Not in as good a shape as I thought I was,_ he thought about halfway up the second time. Running the stairs was _way_ harder than running in place!

Running down the third time, he allowed himself to slip into what he called his 'on-the-go' meditation, which helped him to ignore the fact that his legs were beginning to really hurt and that his lungs were beginning to feel like they were on fire. Reaching the top for the fourth time, he turned again, finally beginning to feel the euphoria all the books talked about. He'd only managed it once before. He hit the ground floor landing at a dead run, and noted the very unexpected presence of Professor Snape in the back of his mind, not letting it truly impinge on him. He absently darted around the wizard, circling behind him and heading back up the stairs. He did notice, however, that he was much slower this time.

As he neared the ground floor again, voices flowed over his senses, almost drawing him out of his near trance-like state. He forcibly shuttled his awareness of the two to the back of his mind where, at the moment, everything aside from running resided, recognizing the two voices as Mrs. Weasley and Professor Snape and therefore of no danger to him.

Frankly, he was floating on a sea of physical sensation - the burn in his legs and lungs, his heart beating rapidly against his ribs, his labored breathing, in through his nose and out hard through his mouth - and didn't want to let that go quite yet. Everything beyond it was secondary, faded, yet strangely sharp and in focus at the same time. It was confusing, but he didn't let that consume his attention either. Instead, he let the confusion wash over him, through him, and then float away.

"Mr. Potter!" Snape shouted as Harry went to circle around him again. He hadn't moved?

"Mr. _Potter_!"

Harry slowed reluctantly, his circle of the professor completed at a walk. He knew better than to stop completely. He'd made _that_ mistake the first time he'd really managed to run well - even if it had been in place, over and around his bed - and he wasn't going to repeat it. That had _hurt_, seemingly half of the muscles in his body cramping up. "You needed something, Sir?" he asked, walking in slow circles in front of the professor, rather than continue around the man again. He figured that might be a little annoying. _He_ would certainly find it annoying.

"_What_ do you think you are doing?" the professor snapped, glowering over at him and snagging hold of his arm, preventing him from continuing his warm down.

Harry blinked. That should be obvious, he thought. "Exercising, Sir," he replied with a frown.

Unfortunately, the professor did not let go of his arm and he could feel his muscles begin to stiffen already. He'd worked them hard just now and would pay for it, he was sure. He really tried not to let that wrench him out of his 'good mental space'. Instead, he simply resumed moving, going from walking slow circles to stretching his legs out, lunging slowly forward and back up, since the circles seemed to irritate the man so.

"Stop moving while I'm talking to you!"

Harry blinked in surprise at the command. "No, Sir," he replied without thinking. "After heavy ex-"

"You will do as you are told!" Snape snapped, tightening his grip on Harry's arm and pulling him into the drawing room and forcing him down into a chair.

Harry started to stand right back up again, not wanting to go through the pain of cramping. He didn't know exactly how much warm down was strictly needed, but since that first time, he'd always moved around slowly until after most of the stiffness and jelly-leg feeling was gone. He didn't dare imagine how bad it might be this time, considering this had been a hell of a lot harder workout than the last time it had happened. "Sir?" he began, trying to explain.

"So like you, Potter," Snape sneered, "doing whatever you want without regard to other people in the house. Such arrogant disregard for-"

"With all due respect, Professor," Harry interrupted, internally wincing as he did so. "If I don't-"

"Shut up!"

_Well, so much for my nice euphoria,_ Harry thought sullenly. _Not to mention my attempts at being polite!_ Why couldn't the man just leave him the bloody hell alone? They weren't at the school right now. He sighed, once again trying to get up. "You don't understand, S-"

"Potter!" Snape snapped again, shouting this time, effectively cutting off his second attempt at an explanation. "Can't you follow even the simplest of instructions?" he demanded.

Harry tuned him out then, doing his best to stretch his legs from a seated position, since it was obvious he wasn't getting out of the chair any time soon. Tuning the man out had the added benefit of allowing Harry to ignore - well mostly - the vitriol spewing from the professor. He'd been polite to the professor. Why was the man _still_ acting like he was being insolent?

Harry would be the first to admit that he hadn't always been as polite as he could be to the professor. After all, it was difficult to be polite to someone who was overtly rude to him. He wasn't even allowed to protest anything at all without being accused of the worst sort of behavior. It reminded him very uncomfortably of Uncle Vernon.

He felt the first cramp in his left leg and worked it out carefully, digging his fingers into the muscle to prevent it from worsening. At the same time, he tried to keep the other leg moving. He _really_ didn't want the other leg to join in. He only had two hands and both were currently occupied.

"Are you even listening to me, Potter?" Snape demanded just as the second cramp suddenly seized.

He cried out, this one far more painful than the first. He let go of the one he'd been working on and grabbed hold of his right calf, desperately trying to work out the new cramp. Unfortunately, doing so allowed the first one to grow unimpeded.

"What is wrong now, Potter?" Snape sneered impatiently.

"Cramping," Harry gasped out, "legs."

Snape knelt quickly, his hands brushing Harry's aside and strong fingers dug into the cramping muscle.

Thankful, and not a little surprised at the professor's sudden assistance, Harry immediately returned his attention to the first cramp. "It's helping, thanks," he managed through his clenched jaw. The pain _was_ diminishing.

Unfortunately, just as the two of them together were beginning to force the muscles to relax, Harry's thigh cramped suddenly as well, causing him to yelp, startled.

Snape snarled, stood suddenly, and strode from the room.

_Just great!_ Harry thought bitterly. _It's your fault I'm in this mess, but you just take off and leave me to it!_ It wasn't long after he finished the thought - though, it felt like it to Harry - when Snape strode back in, Madam Pomfrey at his heels.

_Oh! Thank God!_ He hadn't known she was here, but was really glad she had been.

She shoved a potion vial to his mouth and Harry drank it quickly. "What was it?" he asked, grimacing at the taste.

"Muscle relaxant," she replied shortly, already waving her wand over him. She frowned; at the results, perhaps? "What were you doing before the cramping started," she asked.

Harry quickly explained about his run, and how he'd started to warm down, but hadn't been able to finish it properly. He didn't mention Professor Snape, however, figuring the man wouldn't appreciate being blamed; though, it should be implicit in his explanation, even if he and Snape were the only ones ever aware of it.

Handing him a second potion, she nodded firmly. "Mild healing potion," she told him. "It'll take care of the minor muscle tears caused by the cramping."

He drank it down, ignoring the bitter taste as best he could.

"You'll still be sore for a couple of hours, but after that, you should be fine." Madam Pomfrey leveled him a stern glare. "Next time you engage in rigorous exercise, don't get sidetracked," she ordered, frowning in very obvious disapproval.

"But, I didn't get sidetracked," he protested automatically. "I started to do a warm down and was stopped."

"Fine," she replied shortly. "Then, next time, don't allow anyone to stop you. If you're going to exercise, you need to make sure you follow proper safety procedures, or you could really hurt yourself.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied, resigned. "I'll make sure to do that." It didn't look like the professor was going to admit to anything, and there was no way Harry could truly explain without implicating the man and that simply was not an option. It would make the coming year even worse than normal, he was sure. At this rate, though, he was never going to get treated like an adult, because no one was going to believe he was even smart enough not to hurt himself!

Madam Pomfrey nodded then, seemingly satisfied with his response. "No more intense exercise today. In fact, take it easy. Tomorrow you can resume whatever exercise you're used to doing, just don't do more than accustomed."

"Yes, Ma'am," he said again, smiling at her half-heartedly. "Thank you."

She smiled back, nodded, then headed out of the room.

Harry wasn't about to stay there and listen to the professor start berating him again, so he followed the mediwitch out. Unfortunately, he was stopped just as he reached the door.

"Potter!" the professor called out sharply.

Harry tensed, then forced himself to relax before turning back around. This was turning into a real test of his control, and he was absolutely determined not to lash out - verbally _or_ magically.

"Was there something specific you came here for today, Professor?" he asked, hoping he might be able to siderail the professor with the man's original agenda.

"Mind your own business, Potter! That's not what I want to talk to you about."

Harry rolled his eyes at the typical response. He couldn't not do it. He turned and stormed out into the hall. Unfortunately, the professor was right behind him.

"We are not done here, Mr. Potter!" he said sharply.

Harry didn't roll his eyes that time, but it was a very near thing. "Yes, Professor?"

"If you think you've sidetracked me from that ridiculousness you were indulging in when I arrived, you've got another think coming, Potter."

"Ridiculousness!" Harry spluttered, just barely remembering to keep his voice down. They _were_ in the middle of the ground floor foyer, after all, and he didn't want to disturb Mrs. Black's portrait. "I was _exercising_!"

"Disrupting the entire house, more like!" Snape snapped.

_Disrupting the house?_ Harry thought incredulously. The only two people in the house when he'd started were Mrs. Weasley and Hermione, and they certainly hadn't seemed to mind. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" he demanded angrily, his voice rising just a little. He winced, casting a wary glance toward the curtain covered portrait, half expecting it to begin screaming at them.

"Running all over the blasted place," Professor Snape sneered, "making enough noise to wake the dead!"

"If I didn't wake the portrait, then I surely couldn't have woke the dead!' Harry retorted, anger finally getting the best of him. "It's not like I can do my running outside, is it?" he sneered back. "I'm not _allowed_ to go outside!"

"How like you, wanting the rules bent just for you, regardless of the fact that they're in place for your protection!"

"Stop twisting my words!" Harry hissed. "I never even _asked_ to go outside; I merely compensated for the inability to do so!"

"There are no excuses for tearing around the house like an immature five year old!"

_Immature!_ That had stung. All he'd been doing was- Gritting his teeth, Harry shook his head again. He was letting the man get to him. Anyone with eyes could see the man was being unreasonable. Maybe if _he_ calmed back down, the professor might as well. It had sometimes worked with Uncle Vernon, after all. If nothing else, maybe the whole thing wouldn't actually escalate.

"I'm just trying to keep in shape," he explained as calmly as he could - not that, that was very calmly at this point. He'd pretty much reached the end of his rope.

"I take it back," the professor said suddenly, surprising Harry. "You weren't acting like a five year old. It was more like a bloody two year old that can't sit still for two minutes," he muttered.

Harry hissed at the unfair accusation, his own response also muttered under his breath as he spun away from the professor. "You try being locked in a 12x12 room for weeks at a time and see how long _you_ can sit still when you get free."

"What was that, Potter?" Snape demanded from behind him.

"Nothing," Harry snapped angrily, not bothering to turn back around. "You wouldn't believe me anyway," he finished, now shouting.

Just as the curtains over Mrs. Black flew open and the portrait started screaming at them, Harry dropped back against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to reign in his temper. Mrs. Black was _not_ helping with that, her vile epithets doing nothing but stoking the temper he was so desperately trying to regain control over. Of course, it didn't help that, at the same time, he was hearily kicking himself for letting Snape get to him so easily in the first place. It was one of the many promises he'd made to himself this summer, and already, he was breaking it. How many others would he break before he was back to normal?

It was just so bloody infuriating. It didn't matter what was happening, what he was doing, the professor always made it seem like he was some sort of bullying prat that didn't care about anyone but himself. He accused him - unknowingly - of being just like his cousin! That thought alone snapped the last threads of his control. He could feel the rage build like it hadn't since he'd pretty much mastered his meditation routines.

"Potter!" Snape shouted. "Don't stand there like an idiot! Help silence Mrs. Black!"

That was it! He was _not_ an idiot! He had to put up with that kind of thing at the Dursleys' he would not put up with it in a home _he_ owned! He snapped his eyes open, glaring hatefully at the bloody portrait, wishing he could truly silence the bitch. It would be so very nice to see the hateful painting go up in flames.

Before he could take a step forward, the portrait did just that, bursting into flames and startling Harry out of his skin. He leapt backwards, letting out a startled, rather high-pitched yelp, his anger draining away instantly in his shock. His jaw dropped as he watched the 'hateful portrait go up in flames' - just like he'd 'wished'.

Professor Snape leapt away from the fire, letting out his own yell of surprise. Even inside his mind, Harry didn't dare call the sound an actual yelp. The professor's wand was out in an instant and with a single muttered spell was dousing the flames; flames that didn't _want_ to be doused. By the time they were completely out, it was far too late for Mrs. Black. The only thing left of the obnoxious portrait, once the smoke cleared, was the frame. In fact, the frame wasn't even damaged, nor was the wall surrounding the portrait.

Harry was absolutely horrified by what he'd done - not that he was upset about destroying the painting, but . . . what if the focus of his rage had still been Professor Snape? He had been who Harry had been truly angry at, after all. Mrs. Black had simply been one insult too many and his control had completely slithered away from him. He could _not_ let that happen ever again. It was two dangerous! A week and a half, blown, just like that! And all it had taken was _Snape's_ goading.

TBC (There are four chapters in this episode.)  
Kiristeen ke Alaya  
Feedback: is the ink with which I write! Please review.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plotline contained in this story. I will make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. It is solely for entertainment value.

Thank you muchly reviewers for letting me know you're liking the story. : )  
Makaem: ::snickers:: Thanks! Made me laugh.  
And if anyone can let me know what 'SYMPA' means, I'd really like to know, since I'm sincerely hoping it _doesn't_ mean what my daughter said it did. :( Cuz if it does, that's just plain rude. lol

xxxxxxxxxx  
Chapter Two  
xxxxxxxxxx

Severus turned from the burned out portrait to stare at Potter, feeling more than vaguely astonished; though, he kept that from showing, sneering at the brat instead. "What did you just do?" he demanded, wondering just how such an undisciplined brat had managed that kind of power outpouring - despite recent happenings. Even with all the new power the brat had received, he should _not_ have had enough control of it yet to do something so . . . concentrated! The only thing even remotely damaged was the portrait itself!

Potter shook his head, looking a bit pale. "I'm not sure," he replied shakily.

Severus rolled his eyes at the bloody boy. "Of all the dunderheaded, foolhardy stunts you've pulled, Potter; this has to be the stupidest!"

Potter jerked hate-filled eyes from the portrait frame, his eyes widening in what appeared to be horror. "I need to calm down," he hurriedly exclaimed, spun away and bolted up the stairs.

"Potter!" Severus shouted, but the brat ignored him. The boy was a bloody menace, that's all there was to it. If he couldn't learn to control that temper of his, he was going to hurt someone. For half a second, Severus flashed on what would have happened if _he_ had been the target of Potter's accidental magic instead of a technically lifeless - no matter how annoying - portrait. He shuddered in reaction. Frowning tightly, he stared up the empty staircase for long moments before shaking his head. He needed to speak to the headmaster now. Just maybe Albus could do something about the boy.

He strode quickly out of number 12 and to the nearest safe apparation point. Apparating as close to Hogwarts as the wards would allow, he then headed straight for the gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office. He could only hope the wizard was actually present today. There really was no telling during the summer.

"Gingersnaps," he muttered, disgusted. "Albus," he snapped, the moment he strode into the cluttered office, relieved to actually find the wizard present. "Potter is out of control."

Albus stood, frowning. "What happened?" he asked instantly.

Feeling slightly reassured that his concerns might actually be addressed for once, Severus took a deep breath and explained what had happened to the portrait when Potter had lost his temper.

Albus' frown deepened as Severus finished, a confused look flitting quickly across his face. "What set him off?"

Severus snorted. "He didn't like me chastising him for his recklessness and utter disregard for his own safety," he explained, shaking his head. _Have to compensate for the coddling he gets from everyone else or the arrogant little sod _will_ be useless, just like his father._ He didn't know how else to do it, other than berating the brat at every opportunity. It helped, of course, that Potter was as brashly irritating as he was. That would also have to be tempered out of him - the brashness, at any rate. Without that happening, the brat didn't stand a chance of beating the dark lord.

"Again?" Albus asked.

Severus rolled his eyes. "He could have broken his bloody neck, running up and down the stairs like that, not to mention he might very well have hurt someone else in the process."

"You reprimanded him for running?" Albus asked in obvious disbelief. "In Grimauld Place?"

"Of course, I did," Severus snapped. "You keep telling us that he's the only chance we have of defeating the dark lord. I thought it prudent to make sure he stays alive long enough to actually bloody well do it. Falling down the stairs and breaking his bloody neck certainly didn't seem the best idea."

Albus sighed, shaking his head. "I see," he replied evenly.

Severus narrowed his eyes, not liking the other wizard's tone.

"Perhaps it might be . . . prudent to not push your authority in the boy's own house," he suggested quietly.

Sighing, Severus shook his own head again, standing this time. "I see," he replied shortly, unintentionally echoing the headmaster. So, the boy would continue to get away with acting irresponsibly. _What else is new?_ he thought bitterly. _Wait? The **boy's** house?_

"On the other note," Albus continued, blatantly ignoring the fact that Severus was already headed to the door, "we'll need to talk to Harry about the incident. I had thought he was making progress assimilating his new powers. As powerful as he undoubtedly now is, he'll definitely need to learn to control his outbursts far better. He was already quite powerful as it was."

Severus turned slowly. _At last!_ he thought; though, inwardly scoffing at the man's description of the boy as having been 'already quite powerful'. Until the infusion, he'd certainly seen no evidence of it.

"Even without Voldemort's . . . intervention, Harry was growing more powerful, his wandless destruction of my office after the ministry incident is proof enough of that, but I had assumed that his outburst was an isolated occurrence, rather than a pattern of lack of control."

Severus barely kept himself from gaping at Albus. "He was the one responsible for your office last year?" he demanded, wanting to continue and ask, _and Gryffindor **still** won the house cup?_ but refrained from doing so only by iron self control. He did, however, snort in derision at such blatant favoritism.

"It was a rather trying time, after all," the headmaster excused. "He had . . . provocation."

_Of course he did,_ Severus thought sourly. At least the issue would be addressed now, even if not as . . . strictly as he would like.

"We'll stop by number 12 tomorrow after lunch to have a talk with Harry," Albus continued, seemingly oblivious to Severus' turn in mood.

"Wouldn't today be better?" Severus asked, frowning. "The Weasleys will be descending enmass in the morning to take Potter school _shopping_ in Diagon Alley. With Potter's out of control temper, that is a disaster waiting to happen. Anyone could anger him sufficiently."

Albus shook his head. "No, Severus. Tomorrow will be soon enough," he replied evenly. "Give the boy a chance to calm down, no one sets young Harry off quite like you do. As long as we keep the two of you apart, everything should be fine."

_Well, isn't __that_ just typical, Severus thought bitterly. "So, you're saying this is all _my_ fault!" he snapped. _It certainly wouldn't be the first time._

"No, Severus," Albus denied. "Listen, we both know you are very good at several things, baiting Harry being just one of them. Keeping him calm, on the other hand, is not. You simply enjoy pushing his buttons far too much."

Severus eyes automatically narrowed in suspicion. Why did he not like the sound of that?

"You did such an excellent job of it last year," Albus continued, "giving Harry the chance to burn off his anger little bits at a time, preventing any incidents like this from happening."

Outrage coursed through him at Albus' words. "So, the occlumency lessons were just a farce!" he accused, "designed to let _Potter_ let off some steam at my expense!"

"Of course not, Dear Boy," Albus denied again, his eyes dancing. "Harry needed, still needs in fact, to learn to protect his mind. The other was merely a . . . side benefit."

Shaking his head at the utterly barmy, _manipulative_ excuse for a wizard, Severus rose back to his feet quickly. "Tomorrow, after lunch then," he said firmly, already striding toward the door before the words were fully out of his mouth. He had absolutely no intention of getting roped into being Potter's punching bag again this year. The so-called lessons had been an exercise in both frustration and futility - for both of them, if he was going to be particularly honest - not that he cared about wasting Potter's time. It was his own that he cared about.

Unfortunately, the ease with which he escaped the headmaster's office did not reassure him. The entire conversation had left him with too many unanswered questions and renewed suspicions. Something wasn't adding up about their conversation and he was going to need time to figure out just what that was. While he had known all along that Albus used him in what ever capacity he needed him, until this moment, he'd always thought he knew when and how he was being used. He prided himself on being able to tell. Now, though, he wasn't so certain of that, and he did not like how that made him feel.

He reached his chambers long before he'd sorted through any of his conflicting thoughts, however, and he let himself in absently, relocking and warding the door behind him the same way. He had to a lot to think about, and not much time to do it in.

x-x-x

Harry strolled down Diagon Alley, Hermione on one side, Ron on the other. His mood since he finished his meditations, occlumency, and - of course - the arrival of his friends was so much better. He felt almost happy for a change. The ever present, simmering resentment was so far down right now, it was almost as if it didn't even exist. He could deal with that. He could deal with it very well, in fact. Having everyone with him, not just Hermione, meant more help right when he needed it - as long as they _didn't_ hover. He almost laughed, though, remembering the very differing responses to his announcement that he was going to go _shopping_ today.

At first, Ron and Ginny had looked at him like he was off his nut - of course they were going shopping - until he'd explained exactly what he'd meant. At that, Ron had groaned. Ginny had squealed.

"Can I help?"

Harry nodded, grinning. "I'm counting on it," he replied, including Hermione in that with a single look. "I'll need you two to make sure I don't buy anything that will end up unexpectedly embarrassing me," he explained.

"Don't you know what you'd be embarrassed to wear, mate?" Ron asked, looking very confused.

"Well, sure," Harry replied shrugging, "but the only wizarding clothes I'm at all comfortable with are the school robes, and I have no clue what _other_ people think look good. I've had enough of being made fun of to last a lifetime."

"Better you than me, mate," Ron said then, shaking his head. "I think I'll-"

"Ron," Harry interrupted, "I need your help, too," he said quickly. He had a plan, and he needed Ron there to carry it out.

Ron frowned at him, eyeing him warily. "Why?" he asked suspiciously. "I'm no good at that stuff."

"You can't leave me alone with only _girls_ for company," he replied, winking at his best friend. "Do a bloke a favor and come along to help me keep my sanity."

The indignant, 'hey' from both girls of the group went ignored as he watched Ron closely for his response.

Ron wilted. "I don't know, Harry," he said, nearly pouting now. "It's _shopping_!" he whined.

Harry laughed, knowing now that Ron would come with them. "Tell you what, for your help, all three of you, each get an outfit," he said, smiling hugely. "As the telly says, 'from the skin out'."

Ginny, if possible, looked even more excited than she had.

Hermione looked a little doubtful.

Ron, on the other hand, looked downright indignant. "No, thank you," he replied shortly, his tone just shy of actually being angry.

Harry was prepared for that, though. He narrowed his eyes, pretending - well, mostly - his own anger. "You mean, even though you won't ever accept my help with things like this, I'm supposed to accept all yours without compensating you?" Harry paused, and pulled out the big guns. Hermione had been convinced already, he could see that easily, but Ron hadn't yet. "You're not the only one who has pride, you know," he said softly.

It had taken another 20 minutes before Ron had been convinced, but with both Ginny _and_ Hermione on his side, the lone holdout hadn't stood a chance. He hadn't exactly agreed graciously, but he had agreed. Now, they had all stopped by Gringotts, and had finished their school related shopping - except for robes. That would be last of all. Lunch was almost finished, the four of them nearly done with desert. In the end, it had taken him asking Ron if he would work in his brother's store for free, just because they were brothers. Ron's indignant, 'no', had sealed the deal.

"Lunch next?" Harry asked, eyeing the cafe longingly. It seemed like it had been such a long time since breakfast, even if it hadn't been really. He supposed there was just something about being in the wizarding world that made him hungry all the time.

"Sure thing, Harry," Ron said, the first to agree. "It'll help me make it through the ordeal of 'shopping'."

Harry laughed as Ron mimed being at his strength's end, staggering toward the cafe.

Both Ginny and Hermione shook their heads at Ron's actions, but smiled and headed that way also.

"What?" Ron asked as they all caught up with him.

"You're always hungry, Ron," Hermione replied.

Ginny just snorted, skirting around her brother and into the cafe.

Harry leaned back in his chair as he and Ron waited for the girls to finish, his thoughts wandering at the first opportunity. This morning's . . . altercation aside, Harry knew he still owed Professor Snape an apology for his peek into the wizard's pensieve, a conclusion he'd come to during the first week of his stay at number 12. He just wasn't entirely certain how he was going to go about it now. Unfortunately, Harry knew it was necessary, above and beyond the fact that he desperately needed to resume occlumency lessons - much as he utterly despised the thought. This morning's . . . temper tantrum had proven that. He needed something more than what he'd been doing on his own, that much - at least - was certain. His on-the-go meditation wasn't enough to ward off his anger while arguing with the professor.

Maybe he should try the other method, the one he'd originally set aside as seeming really silly. At this point he had nothing left to lose and everything to gain. He suspected he'd need every ounce of anger control he could get _just_ to apologize to the man, let alone ask him to resume occlumency lessons. The latter was going to take truly heroic measures to accomplish.

"Harry!"

Blinking, Harry shook his head. "What?"

Ron snorted.

Hermione rolled her eyes and glared. "Where were you?"

"Yeah," Ginny added, "we called you twice."

"Oh, sorry," Harry replied, "lost in thought." He paused and sighed. "I've got to figure out how to apologize to Professor Snape."

"Snape?" Ron yelped. "Why would you apologize to _him_?"

"What happened?" Hermione asked, her voice oddly resigned.

Harry shook his head. "Just something that happened near the end of last year," he told them, shrugging. "I did something I really shouldn't have, and I need to tell the man I'm sorry for it."

"That didn't tell us what you did," Ginny complained.

"I know. I promised I wouldn't tell anyone."

"Harry," Herminoe began tentatively - never a good sign, "secrets about things like this are never good," she said softly. "You should tell someone in authority what happened."

Harry blinked, then frowned, confused. The understanding jumped him. "It's not like that!" he exclaimed, indignant. "I _told_ you it was something _I_ did wrong."

"I believe you, Harry," Hermione replied easily, as both Ron and Ginny looked on in continued confusion, "It's just that-"

"No, Hermione," Harry said firmly. "It really is nothing like that. I just . . . invaded his privacy is all, learned something I really shouldn't have."

"Oh! Well," Hermione backtracked quickly, "then, you're right, you do owe him an apology. Professor Snape is a very private man."

"What did you learn?" Ron asked, leaning forward, excitement gleaming in his eyes.

Harry frowned at his friend. "I told you, Ron," he explained slowly, "I promised I wouldn't tell. I've said more than I should as it is, what with Hermione speed jumping to the island of conclusions."

"Everyone ready to go?" Hermione asked, cutting off Ron's next protest, even as he opened his mouth.

Harry jumped up, eager to get away from the imminent interrogation. Ron never had liked being out of the loop. Harry snorted mentally. It wasn't like he had room to talk - well, think - he had never liked not knowing what was going on around _him_ either. "Yes," he exclaimed, pulling out the money to pay for lunch.

Ron and Ginny pulled out two sickles each - enough to pay for most of theirs. Harry didn't say anything; though, he had intended to pay for lunch. He figured he was pushing his luck with the clothes he was going to buy them. He didn't want to get into an argument over four sickles.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in and out of stores of all sorts. They all got shoes at the first store, after that came every day clothing. As far as Harry could see it wasn't much different from muggle clothing, except maybe how it was made. He was enjoying himself thoroughly. It was great being able to buy stuff _he_ wanted for himself. Ginny was enjoying herself as well. Hermione wasn't so much enjoying herself, but wasn't miserable, either. Ron, on the other hand, looked as if he were suffering a detention with Filch. Harry almost relented, but shook off the impulse.

"Only one more stop, Ron," he offered in consolation, "then you're off the hook."

Ron brightened immediately. "Really?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry replied, smiling, "really."

"Wicked!" Ron exclaimed, but his excitement died quickly. "You sure, Harry?" he asked.

Laughing now, Harry nodded, very thankful for Ron's friendship. Clear though it was that the bloke didn't want to be there, he wasn't going to abandon Harry. "The only thing left of clothing type stuff is robes," he said.

Out of the corner of his eye, something caught Harry's attention and he drifted toward the store window. At first glance, they appeared to be very fancy - and large - potion vials, so it felt odd to him that his curiosity had pulled him to the display. He wasn't really paying attention to the display directly, really. His mind was too busy trying to pull a ghost up from his memory. He frowned, searching.

"Harry?"

He held up his hand to stall Hermione; he almost had it. He just needed to-

_Oh!_

They were portable memory vials, just like the ones his mother had set aside for him. He was surprised there would be enough of a market for that kind of thing to have premade ones ready to go. New thoughts and ideas began swirling and Harry spun toward the door suddenly and strode inside.

He ignored the questions from his friends as they followed him inside. He had the perfect offering as an apology.

x-x-x

They arrived back at number 12 late in the afternoon, all carrying several packages. Kicking the door shut behind them, they all winced as one, for a moment forgetting the Mrs. Black's legacy was no longer in residence.

"Good thing we don't have to be quiet, anymore," Ginny said, laughing.

Ron and Hermione nodded, agreeing with her, but Harry didn't feel at all comfortable enough to do so, it being his loss of control that had resulted in Mrs. Black's removal in the first place. If he'd done it on purpose it would have been an entirely different matter. As it was, it was just plain embarrassing.

"Everyone get your stuff put up and when you come back down, I'll have a nice afternoon snack ready for you," Mrs. Weasley said brightly, heading straight for the kitchen.

All four of them darted up the stairs as quickly as their packages - and fatigue - would allow. Once they hit the next landing, however, Hermione stopped him.

"You going to tell us why you got that stuff, now, Harry?"

"Yeah, Harry, we're dying of curiosity here!" Ron added.

Harry shrugged. "It's just part of my apology," he replied.

All three of them stared at him for several seconds without saying anything.

"Harry," Hermione began, frowning, "please don't tell me you're buying him something to-"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, mortified by the implication. "Of course not!" Not that he was about to try, but he really didn't think that Snape could be 'bought off' like that. He didn't seem the type. Besides, that was the kind of thing you did with girls . . . not that he was going to actually say that to either Ginny _or_ Hermione. Both of them had tempers to behold when they really got steamed.

"Sorry," Hermione said softly, "I just wanted to make sure."

Harry frowned again, a rather disturbing thought occuring to him. "Do you really think I'm that juvenile?" he asked, truly concerned that she saw him that way. If even one of his best friends thought that about him, what hope did he have of convincing the adults?

She shook her head instantly. "No, Harry. You just wouldn't be the first person to make that kind of mistake."

That molified him . . . somewhat. He still wasn't completely convinced, but was willing to let it go. What he really wanted to do was talk to her about which memory or memories he should pick. Unfortunately, she wouldn't really be able to help him unless he told her not only what he'd done, but also what he'd seen. Somehow, he really didn't think that would be a good way to begin making amends to Professor Snape - even if the man never found out about it. If nothing else, _he'd_ know about it, and he wouldn't feel right about it. Not to mention, he'd also have to go into far too much detail about his own life - something he was loathe to do.

He sighed as he headed for his and Ron's room. _Remind me **why** I want to do this again?_ he asked himself morosely. Yeah, he'd done something phenomenally stupid, something he shouldn't have, but the professor had certainly never apologized for any of the things he'd done to _Harry_.

_Oh, that's right,_ he reminded himself sarcastically. _I'm trying to be **mature**._ Being mature bit!

"You children about done up there?" Mrs. Weasley shouted from the ground floor foyer. "Food's ready."

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," Harry and Hermione replied, their shouts sounding at the same time as Ron and Ginny's, "yes, Mum!"

They all scrambled to finish putting their things up.

Harry took a little longer than Ron, having to be careful as he put both the memory vial, as well as the pensieve, on his desk. The moment they were safely deposited, however, he darted out the door and down the stairs, easily catching up with the others. No matter what else needed done or planned today, right now, there was Mrs. Weasley cooking to enjoy. Harry frowned when he was about half way down the stairs to the ground floor. The headmaster stood in the foyer. Why did he think this was not a good thing?

"Headmaster!" he exclaimed, definitely surprised to see the older wizard; though he really supposed he shouldn't be. Snape was sure to have run off to the headmaster and _tattled_ on him, despite the fact that Harry had resisted doing the very same thing - to his own detriment. Sighing, Harry walked toward the headmaster, admonishing himself for his petty thoughts. _Not doing so good at being mature?_ he asked himself snidely. _Are you?_

"How are you doing, my boy?" the headmaster asked, smiling at him.

Harry shrugged and almost responded with the standard, 'fine'. At the last second, however, he changed his mind. "Not so good, actually," he replied evenly. Maybe he would even tell the man about what happened every summer. He had told himself he was going to tell someone, after all. The headmaster was as good as anyone, probably better, because he was the one that kept sending Harry back, despite his protests. If the wizard knew how bad it was getting, maybe he wouldn't try any more - even if they could _find_ the Dursleys _and_ it was possible to reinstate the wards.

No, he thought after a second. He doubted they could send him back now, so it wasn't necessary any more. He could keep his secrets.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Harry," Headmaster Dumbledore replied, frowning slightly. "Perhaps we could go to the drawing room to speak?"

Harry nodded and reluctantly followed behind. He'd much rather be in the kitchen with the Weasleys and Hermione, but the drawing room was better for whatever the headmaster wanted to discuss. He still wasn't very happy with the headmaster, but knew, beyond doubt, that he wasn't going to get out of this conversation, and he certainly didn't want it to take place in front of his friends.

Hermione was the only one who knew just how much he had fought to control his magical outbursts this summer and would _probably_ know just how much this specific lapse would affect him, but he really didn't want to hear his other two friends exclaiming how great it was the she was gone. Yeah, so it was great she was gone, but _how_ she went was not so good, and Harry didn't know what to do about the distinction. Not to mention the fact that neither Ron nor Ginny knew about what had happened to him the day he'd got to the Dursleys' this summer. When they did find out, he was sure it was going to go over badly for a variety of reasons - not the least of which was that he hadn't told them sooner.

It took several minutes before they were both situated comfortably. Once they were, Harry looked over to Dumbledore, but the man spoke before he could.

"I'm sure the fact that I'm here today really comes as no surprise to you, Harry."

Harry shook his head, feeling everything twist up inside him: guilt, anger at Snape, fear that he'd really disappointed Dumbledore this time - why he was still worried about that he had absolutely no clue - as well as a renewed feeling of helplessness that he really didn't understand. "No, Sir," he replied, taking a deep breath before continuing. "It's probably the same reason I'd like to talk to you."

_Like? Not likely, more like need._

"Excellent, Harry," the headmaster replied, smiling widely. "What do you think happened yesterday?"

Harry blinked, surprised at the question. He knew what had happened. Snape had been unfair. Harry had been in pain. Snape hadn't let up. Mrs. Black had started screaming, and Harry had lost it. "When I tell you what happened," Harry began carefully, wanting to get this right. He didn't want the headmaster to think he was trying to get out of trouble, after all. That wasn't something a 'mature adult' did. "Don't think I'm trying to blame anyone but myself for losing control of my temper and my magic. It was my fault I lost control, not anyone else's; I know that. It's just . . . it was a series of events that was just . . . too much.

Dumbledore nodded. "Very well, Harry."

At that, Harry explained what had happened, this time, not avoiding the fact that Snape hadn't listened to him about _why_ he had been moving around. This time, he included just how . . . frustrated he'd been that he wasn't allowed to explain himself or his actions; that part of why he'd become so angry was because Snape _always_ assumed he was lying, or making excuses, that the man couldn't see he wasn't his father and would never _be_ his father. "I never knew the man!" Harry exclaimed, jumping up to pace.

The headmaster allowed him to rant, interrupting only when Harry forgot to use more than Snape's last name.

"Then when Mrs. Black started in on top of S- Professor Snape's rant about 'unthinking arrogance' - All I had been doing was exercising! No one else but Mrs. Weasley and Hermione were here. It was just too much finally. It all . . . boiled over."

Harry dropped back into his chair, feeling mentally drained. He was glad nothing had rattled while he'd ranted, though, that was definitely a good sign. Apparently, it really was just Snape that set him off. He almost frowned. Of course, he hadn't yet run into Malfoy, so it might not be just limited to Snape. Malfoy was pretty good at riling him up, too.

"And that was enough to allow you to lose control of your magic?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

_What?_ he wondered sarcastically, _that isn't enough?_ The man was constantly putting him down, calling him a bully - and worse, never listening. It always made him _so_- _Oh!_

Harry shook his head then, suddenly understanding what the headmaster was trying to imply. "No," he admitted ruefully. "I think that how I feel about Professor Snape played a part too."

Dumbledore nodded in response, but didn't say anything for a long time. "And do you think that is a good reaction?"

Harry blew out an explosive breath. What did he want? Of course losing control of his magic wasn't a good reaction. It would never _be_ a good reaction. Losing his temper was bad enough, by itself. Frustration rode through Harry on a wave and he frowned deeply. Why couldn't the man just say what he meant, instead of all this cryptic bollocks? Shoving down his reaction to the headmaster as a side issue to be worked on later, he thought carefully, his lower lip pulled between his teeth. Obviously, the headmaster was fishing for something specific, and _he_ needed to figure out what it was. What was he suppose to understand about what happened?

"Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "I know losing control of my magic is never good," he said carefully, still thinking. "That's obvious. Beyond that," he finally admitted, "I don't know what you're trying to get me to sa- realize."

x-x-x

For several long moments after the headmaster left, Harry could only stare in shock. The moment he recovered enough to move, however, he ran all the way up to his room, slamming the door shut behind him in frustrated anger. It wasn't fair! He already knew he had to control his temper. He already knew he had to learn to control his magic better. He'd admitted as much.

He hadn't made it more than four steps across his and Ron's small room when there was a knock on the door. "Who is it?" he snapped, really not wanting any company at the moment. He needed time to calm himself down first.

"It's me," Hermione said, her voice muffled by the door.

Harry spun around and strode back to the door. He jerked it open, startling Hermione into a quiet yelp. "Sorry," he said, grimacing. "You have time for rant mode?" he asked.

Hermione nodded, grinning slightly as she stepped into the room. "That's what I'm here for," she replied.

He started to relax the moment the words were out of her mouth and he watched quietly as she settled herself into the only chair in the room, besides the one at his desk.

_Wait a sec!_ "How'd you know I'd need to rant?" he asked, dreading her answer.

She smirked at him. "I know you."

He frowned at her, rolling his eyes and waited for her real answer.

"Any time today that you haven't been actively doing something, you've been pensieve . . . broody, and once we got back, well-" And here, Hermione ducked her head sheepishly. "I went looking for you when you didn't show up in the kitchen. I swear I didn't stay to listen, but I heard you talking with Headmaster Dumbledore about Professor Snape," she continued with a shrug. "Any time Professor Snape's involved, it's a safe bet that you'll need to rant."

Harry laughed. That explanation was just so . . . Hermione. It was all true, though, and for the third time that day, Harry was explaining what had happened. As he had with Dumbledore, he made sure Hermione was aware that he knew not controlling his temper and his magic was his fault and that his rant against Snape was just that, a rant.

Hermione listened to him - remaining surprisingly calm. She even bit her lower lip to keep her mouth shout when he called Snape, Snape.

He almost laughed at that. She was certainly true to her word; though, Harry could see it was an effort. An effort he appreciated.

The moment he ran out of steam on the issue of Snape, Harry began relating - heatedly - the discussion he'd just finished having with the headmaster. He was still actively furious about _that_. He did notice, however, that _nothing_ was shaking. It was almost enough to cool his anger, all things considered, especially just how angry he really was right then.

"How can the headmaster justify forcing the two of us together to work on my magic control, when _he_ purposely does everything in his power to provoke my temper in the first place?" he finally asked, having related the headmaster's solution to his 'little problem'. "It just doesn't make any sense! _Get used to each other?_" he shouted "I already have to apologize to the man, and ask to continue the occlumency lessons. _Now_ we're going to have to spend even more time together - assuming he agrees in the first place. I don't know what I'm going to do if he doesn't, though." Harry growled lowly. "Hell, I don't know what I'm going to do if he does! I don't think I'm going to survive that much time alone with him!"

Harry shook his head. _And now he's training his pieces,_ he thought sourly. The problem was, he couldn't see the purpose to this training. It seemed . . . completely unrelated to anything.

"Well, Harry," Hermione began, startling Harry from his thoughts. Thankfully, she stopped when Harry raised his hand.

"Hermione," he said carefully, "you know that you're one of my two best friends, ever, but please, if you're going to try and convince me this is a good idea, you might want to wait until I can calm down a little." He tried to smile, but knew it was a half-hearted attempt, at best. "I won't be receptive to it at the moment."

Taking several deep breaths, he dropped onto his bed. Smiling sheepishly, he shrugged. "Obviously, I need to find a new way to work on my control," he admitted, "because the one I'm currently using just doesn't cut it with Sn- Professor Snape." He frowned then. "I didn't even need this much with the Dursley's, though, so I don't understand why it isn't enough here, now that I'm actually applying it."

Hermione shrugged, her eyes turning thoughtful.

Obviously, she was going to allow the subject change for now, another thing for Harry to be grateful to her for. It was a new thing for her. Last year, she wouldn't have allowed it, nagging him until he exploded. That would not be a good thing this year - for either of them. He really did need time to calm down, or he would end up yelling at her - or worse - and he really didn't want that.

"I don't know," she said softly. "Maybe you haven't given up hope that someday you can prove yourself to Professor Snape."

Harry's jaw dropped. "I don't have anything to prove to him!"

"I never said you did, Harry."

"Oh," he replied, is outrage deflating instantly. Now he was just confused. "What did you mean, then?" he asked.

"Just that you may _want_ to prove him wrong about you, not that you _have_ to prove it." Hermione shook her head, clearly trying to figure out how to explain what she was thinking. "It just seems to me that over the years, you've given up expecting anything from the Dursleys," she explained slowly. "So, now, their opinion doesn't really matter to you. You probably only get angry at them at all, either because you know they expect it of you, or because you feel like you _should_ be angry at them."

Harry blinked in shock. She really _had_ been reading his books. He frowned as he thought about what she'd said. Apparently, he still hadn't managed the first rule he'd written down this summer; _Live up to your own expectations, no one else's_. That had been in the very first book he'd read. It was yet another thing he still had to work on.

"Here, in the wizarding world, you've grown to expect more; to expect better treatment from the adults around you. That would make it difficult to accept someone treating you like 'they' always do." Hermione shrugged again, almost seeming like she was trying to depreciate what she was saying. "I know it's difficult for me to accept Professor Snape's treatment, and I didn't have to put up with it growing up."

"But wouldn't that make it even harder to deal with?" Harry asked. "Wouldn't growing up with it, make sure I knew how to handle it from other people?"

"Maybe. . . ." Hermione replied, frowning thoughtfully. Her eyes lit up suddenly in what Harry liked to call one of her 'eureka' moments. "If you could look at him the way you do the Dursley's then, yeah, it would, but - you see - you don't look at him that way." Leaning forward, her words coming faster, Hermione was obviously on a roll. "At the Dursley's you expect it, allow it even, because you know you can't change it - and I don't think you respect them much. Maybe, you even feel a bit helpless."

Harry's eyes widened, and he really wanted to protest, almost did so automatically, in fact. She'd as much as said he _did_ respect Snape. Unfortunately, she was at least mostly right. It was exactly how he felt at the Dursleys'. He couldn't use magic there to defend himself - not without risking expulsion, or worse, anyway. Until this year, he couldn't even leave and mean it, because the other adults controlling his life would have just sent him back again. He hoped it would never be a problem again.

_Tell someone, idiot! It might make **sure** it's never a problem again._

Oblivious to his inner revelations, Hermione continued. "You don't feel that way here at Hogwarts. Here, you've stood up to bullies. You've defended yourself from Voldemort. You-"

Harry gaped at Hermione and her words cut off midsentence.

"What?" she asked defensively.

"You're honestly telling me that you think the reason I react worse to Sn- Professor Snape than to the Dursleys is because I feel _better_ about myself at school?" he asked her in astonishment.

"Yes," she replied firmly. "That's it exactly."

Harry snorted in response, but truly tried to take her words seriously. It wasn't easy, though. It sounded absolutely crazy. He would have thought that feeling better about himself would make it easier to control his temper, not harder.

"I mean, listen. If someone doesn't feel good about themselves, they expect worse treatment, accept it as normal, even. You've been conditioned to accept it from them, but you're simply not willing to meekly accept the same treatment from a professor."

"So," Harry began tentatively, testing his understanding, "if I put Professor Snape in the same . . . catagory as the Dursleys, I might not get as angry at him?"

"It's possible," Hermione nodded with a small shrug. "Certainly it's worth a try, anyway." Hermione frowned again, her expression quickly turning into a glare, one she directed at him. "Just as long as you don't turn into Harry Dursley in the process!" she admonished sternly.

"What?" he exclaimed, beyond astonished.

"You're almost two different people, Harry. I never noticed it before this summer, since we don't usually see each other during summer break. It's like at Hogwarts you're Harry Potter, and in the muggle world, you're Harry Dursley. Now, I still haven't actually seen you in the muggle world, but here at Grimauld, in the beginning, anyway, you were, I don't know . . . so very quiet and . . . shadow like."

It took Harry several minutes before he could respond coherently after that, his mind kind of numb. He'd known for a long time that he acted differently at the Dursleys' than at school. He had to, just to get by. He'd just never thought of it quite that way before. It was more than a little disconcerting, actually.

He shook himself free of the odd numbness, promising himself to give it more thought tonight before he did his meditation. "Okay, so, think of Snape-"

"Professor Snape, Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes, but obliged her. At least she'd waited until after he'd finished his rant. "Professor Snape as a fourth Dursley and see if that helps."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, essentially."

Harry figured it was, as Hermione had said, worth a shot. He did wonder, just what the man's reaction would be if he started acting like he did at the Dursley's when he was around , though, or whether he'd even notice a difference. No way to know, he supposed, so he changed the subject and the next several minutes were redirected toward anger management in general. He really wanted her opinion on the secondary technique he'd thought was silly.

"It seems a lot like bio-feedback to me," she replied when he finished describing it.

"Bio-feedback?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "I read about it one summer when an aunt of mine was really into it. It's supposed to do wonders with stuff like this, as well as helping the body heal from disease." She smiled sheephishly. "Believe it or not, I actually have the book with me. I have no clue why I grabbed it this year, since I never have before, but. . . ." She shrugged then, her voice trailing off.

"I believe it," Harry replied, grinning as he listened to her rattle on about what she knew about bio-feedback. By the time she was finished, he had to agree that the technique he'd found did sound very similar. He just hoped it would work for him.

TBC  
Kiristeen ke Alaya  
Feedback: is the ink with which I write! Please feed the muses and review.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plotline contained in this story. I will make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. It is solely for entertainment value.

**Author's apology and request:** The review section has suddenly become a snit fit forum, and I admit I'm partially to blame. I had a knee-jerk reaction to being called stupid, simply because I see the system differently than the reviewer, and I apologize for that. I should not have attacked back.

I purposely put the Not H/Hr in the summary so as to alert those who thought it might be before they got into the story, despite the catagory of Friendship. I hope that clears everything up. : )

That all being said, could we all simply get along and not snipe at each other. The review system should be used for comments directly relating to the story (which is what I meant about my comments about "what politics?"). Having a difference of opinion, does not mean the one who disagrees is stupid. And to clear up another misunderstanding; this story will not have Hr/SS in it. As stated, this story has no pairings at all. The Hr/SS will come far later, when Hermione is no longer a student.

Thank you,  
Enjoy,  
Kiri

xxxxxxxxxx  
Chapter Three  
xxxxxxxxxx

Harry was just sitting down with his breakfast, his mind busy jumping from problem to problem, when he heard the floo activate. He cringed, knowing there was only one person it could be, the one person he wasn't quite ready to face. Remus Lupin. Hary had, unfortunately, run out of time to figure out what, exactly, he was going to tell the man. Tomorrow was his birthday, and according to the headmaster, not only would his power start fluctuating any time after that, there was no telling what kind of . . . signs would be seen of his mother's magic - assuming her rather long term spell actually worked.

If he wouldn't feel so incredibly, selfishly, ungrateful, he would be wishing rather profoundly that it not work. It would be one less thing to deal with. He snorted. Ungrateful or not; if he was completely honest with himself, there was _still_ a part of him that wished exactly that. After all, how much power could one person control before it started controlling them? Harry was pretty damn sure he was close to that limit . . . at least for himself. He was _just_ Harry. There was nothing special or 'extraordinary' enough about him to control the kind of power he suspected was coming his way. One thing he did know, however, was that he was in over his head and he would need help to get through this. He needed Remus' help. Who better, after all? The man had his own uncontrollable 'beast' to live with. Surely he would have some sound advice. If nothing else, he should have some tricks up his sleeve for controlling anger.

Harry sighed as he heard sounds of movement in the living room. He'd already told Remus about what had happened the first day of summer, not wanting him to find out about it from the newspaper - should the information get leaked. Who knew what kind of spin they'd put on what had happened, despite the spin the headmaster had already put on it. He still hadn't even looked at a paper to find out, so he didn't know if it had been kept quiet or not. He really hoped it had, since he didn't want the extra attention it was sure to generate. He just didn't hold out much of that hope for it to be true. He supposed, however, that he was safe thus far, since Ron hadn't said anything yet. Ron would not have kept quiet had something about it hit the papers already. If nothing else, he'd have gotten an owl from him.

He sighed again, managing a rather wan smile as Remus came into the kitchen. This was it.

"Morning, Harry," Remus greeted, making a beeline for the teapot.

"Hey, Remus," Harry responded, but couldn't quite muster his normal enthusiasm.

Remus stopped just as his hand reached for the pot, and slowly turned to face Harry. "Is something wrong?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"Not wrong, exactly," Harry replied, shaking his head. "Are you going to be busy today?"

"No," Remus replied with a shake of his head. "Barring emergencies, today and tomorrow are all yours."

Harry grinned a little at that. He'd always spent most of his birthday alone. Too bad it wasn't going to be all fun and games this time. It would really be nice to be able to simply enjoy good friends and good fun. "Good," he replied quietly, trying not to let any of his inner turmoil show through, "because I've got a couple of things I need to talk to you about."

Remus nodded. "Alright," he agreed easily. "Now?"

"No," Harry replied, "after breakfast in the den." He wanted to be able to eat in peace, first.

Again Remus nodded and returned to making his tea.

Harry watched him, half eating, half playing with the remainder of his food. _So much for it being easier to eat _before_ I tell him,_ he thought a little sourly, his stomach too unsettled to find the food very appetizing any longer.

Remus took the chair next to him when his tea was prepared. "How are you doing?" he asked, worry creasing his forehead.

Sighing, Harry related everything - well most everything - that had happened since his last visit, including his controntation with Snape at the beginning of the month and what had happened as a result. Surprisingly enough, he wasn't even all that angry about the whole thing anymore, more . . . resigned, he supposed. He was pretty sure that it was thanks to Hermione's advice. He'd come up with a plan of action, so maybe that helped too.

"Mrs. Black is gone?" he asked, seeming delighted.

"Yeah," Harry replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, afraid to look up from his desecrated breakfast.

Remus looked at him knowingly. "Glad she's gone, but not so glad about how she went?" he asked.

Harry simply nodded, finally looking up, and with that, the two of them settled in to talk about random, unimportant things until Harry finally pushed his plate away, the food gone cold and completely unappetizing.

"Ready then?" Remus asked.

Harry nodded and rose, taking his dishes to the sink before silently heading out of the cozy room.

He'd already set the empty pensieve on the desk in the den, something that Harry realized Remus noticed almost immediately. It didn't really suprirse him, though. Remus was fairly observant and the pensieve was definitely a new addition to number 12. He didn't say anything about it right away, however, opting instead, to start with the letter.

"I'm sorry for waiting so long to talk to you about this," he offered, pulling the letter out of his pocket. "I just . . . needed time to come to some sort of terms with it myself, and, frankly, I had no clue how to bring it up. It isn't exactly something that you bring up in everyday casual conversation."

Remus' frown deepened, wary curiosity lighting his eyes. "That's alright, Harry," he replied. "I can understand that."

Harry wasn't so sure the man really did. After all, he didn't know what Harry had been holding back. He just hoped that Remus wouldn't be too angry at him when he found out.

"Just after I got back to Hogwarts this summer," he began slowly, "I got a package from Gringotts."

Remus' eyes lit up in understanding.

Harry almost snorted. He _seriously_ doubted Remus really had figured it out. No one in a million years would guess at what he'd received.

_Unless he's known all along!_ The thought hit Harry like a bludger, and a moment of sheer rage swept through him. Was Remus simply another 'pawn handler'? The moment things started shaking, however, he swiftly dropped into one of his meditation routines and tried to smother the worst of it. It lingered, though, and it was very difficult to keep it out of his voice. He did try, as he didn't know for sure that Remus had known all along, it was an assumption on his part. He didn't _want_ to believe that Remus would have kept something like this from him.

He drew in a deep, calming breath and spoke softly. "It was a time delayed package from Mum," he said, his anger fading away the moment he saw the absolutely gobsmacked expression spread over Remus' face. The man's jaw even dropped. It was almost enough to make him laugh - almost. After a couple of seconds, giving Remus a little time to adjust to the idea, Harry held out the letter. "This came with it."

As Remus raised himself up enough to reach out and take the letter, Harry noticed the man's hand shaking, and then and there realized for certain that he hadn't, _couldn't_, have known. Of the many things that had been kept from him over the years he'd known about the wizarding world, he seriously doubted that Remus would have kept something like this from him - at least not this long.

Harry watched carefully as Remus read the letter, and knew the moment the man had reached beyond the pleasantries his mum had started the letter with. His eyes widened and immediately began filling with tears. He swallowed hard and his head snapped up to stare at Harry. "Does this mean what I think it means?"

Harry couldn't speak, his thoat completely closed off. So he nodded instead.

Remus took in a shaky breath, muttering something that Harry couldn't quite hear under his breath, and returned his attention to the letter. A moment later, he was once again staring at Harry. "Memories?" he asked, his voice as shaky as his hand had been. "That's what the pensieve's for?"

Rising, Harry nodded, still unwilling to trust his voice. Pulling the memory phial out of his pocket as he crossed to the desk, he carefully poured out the silvery liquid, then stepped back. He didn't look to check, but was sure Remus was headed his way. He could hear the man moving behind him.

Remus frowned at him. "You're not coming in, too?"

Harry shook his head fervently. _No way!_ "No," he choked out, "I-" He cleared his throat and tried again. "I can't. It's too soon."

Casting a very wary glance between the pensieve and Harry, Remus pulled out his wand and touched it to the swirling surface.

Harry was pretty sure that Remus could have lived his entire life without knowing this horrifying information - Harry certainly could have - but, despite how upsetting it was to share it, he knew Remus wouldn't have wanted to not know. That hadn't made any sense, even in his own mind, but he still knew what he meant by it. Harry could wish his mother had never left this information, but, at the same time, know he would be absolutely furious with anyone who kept all this from him after the fact. Remus, he was sure, would feel the same way.

Going back and forth in his mind about whether he had done the right thing in sharing the letter and the memory, Harry shifted restlessly as he watched the motionless man. He knew how long the memory took to view, basically. It seemed like Remus had been inside the pensieve far longer than necessary already, and Harry was beginning to worry what he was thinking, how he was reacting.

Finally, after an eternity of watching, waiting, and debating, the man moved. Tears were streaming freely down his face as he turned around, a single, choked sob working its way out of his throat.

At that point, Harry lost his own battle with tears. Even more than a month after the fact, it still hurt to know exactly what his mother had sacrificed. It made no difference that it had happened so very long ago. To him, it seemed like it had happened far more recently.

The two of them sat and talked, haltingly at first; Remus about Lily and what he remembered of her - things that Harry had never been priviledged to hear before - Harry about his very conflicted feelings. While he was definitely grateful to have been saved - both times - it hurt to know that he would never get see his mother, not even in the afterlife. She was gone for good; at least that's what he understood about what had happened. Until her package, he'd at least had the comfort of 'knowing' he'd see her someday, no matter how far away that 'someday' might be.

x-x-x

Harry startled awake to see the sun filtering around the edges of the curtains in his room. He frowned, confused, having expected to be woken up much earlier with some sort of . . . change. Everyone had told him that 16 was such a milestone in a wizard's life. He certainly didn't feel any different than when he'd gone to bed. He laughed then, the sound holding only the tiniest bit of humor. Maybe, after all that bloody build up, there wasn't going to be anything to this. Maybe he wouldn't get any more power. Which, quite frankly, was fine with him. He really did have more than he could handle already - more than any one person needed. What he _did_ need was more experience, more practice. Unfortunately, there was no way for him to get that practice until school started again. Not for the first time, he cursed the underage wizardry laws.

He dressed quickly and darted down the stairs, eager to share his good news. He'd been so bloody worried about today, and now, he didn't think he'd have to. It had been his birthday for over seven hours and there hadn't been any weirdness yet.

He slumped as he slid to a stop in the kitchen, finding it empty of either of his current housemates. Refusing to let that dim his good mood, Harry lit the room and proceeded to make breakfast for the three of them. He was just putting the finishing touches on it when he heard someone coming down the stairs. Grinning, he listened closely. It sounded like Hermione to him. No matter that she was a girl, she still made more noise than Remus did. He quickly dished up her plate, set it on the table and was pouring her tea when she came in.

"Good morning, Harry," she greeted, smiling sleepily at him.

"Morning, Mione," he replied brightly.

"You're certainly in a good mood today."

"Yep."

"Sleep well?" she asked, just as Remus joined them.

"Very well, thank you," he replied. "Hungry, Remus?" he asked as he began pouring tea for the man.

Remus shook his head. "Just tea for now," he replied in near mumble. "Wake up first. Food later."

Hermione giggled, immediately clamping her mouth together to cut off the sound, earning her a half serious glare from the latest arrival.

"Not a morning person, are you?" she offered, the comment more statement than question.

Remus simply shook his head, latching onto the tea the moment Harry handed it to him.

"I really don't think much is going to happen today," Harry ventured quietly as he fixed his own plate. "I don't feel any different so far."

"Really?" Hermione asked. "My power surges - such as they were - started before I woke up that day. The dorm was a disaster." She frowned as he sat down. "When were you born?"

Harry froze, his fork half-way to his mouth and he blinked at his friend. "Today," he said slowly, drawing the word out.

Hermione huffed at him.

Remus chuckled.

"I meant what _time_ of the day."

"Oh!" Harry replied sheepishly. "Um, I don't know."

"3:21 pm," Remus supplied.

Harry grinned. "Really?"

Remus nodded. "And you shouldn't be worried yet, Harry."

_Who's worried?_ Harry thought to himself. _Worried is so very much the opposite of what I am._ He didn't say so out loud, however, prefering to keep that to himself for now.

"The magical growth and the fluctuations - with accompanying outbursts - can start as early as 12 hours or so before the time you were born to about 20 or so after. It's not exactly an exact science, nor is it the same from one person to the next."

Harry slumped. "Oh," he replied softly.

"Also, the power you may be receiving from your mum could happen today, but could also not happen until after your growth stops and your magic settles. There's really no way to know just how that will work, not without having access to the same information Lily did. All we have is what she told us about getting it after you grew into your magic. It does, however, suggest that it won't happen until after your own magic growth settles - meaning you've '_grown_' into your magic."

Harry's jaw dropped. "You mean I could be dealing with sudden accidental magical flare ups for _months_!" he asked incredulously, a low grade horror filling him at the thought. He couldn't even begin to imagine the full embarassment factor at school. It was bad enough when it happened here.

Thankfully, Remus shook his head almost immediately. "Once you learn to deal with the fluctuations caused by the deatheaters and by your natural power growth over the course of the next month or so, you should be able to handle the additional influx later. Lily was powerful, but then, so are you. Unless it happens at the same time as your growth, you probably won't have nearly as much trouble with it.

Harry frowned at that, knowing how much trouble he was already having. How could even more power be _easier_? "That makes absolutely no sense!" he exclaimed.

"Harry, do you think you would have been able to cast a corporeal patronus your first year at Hogwarts?" Remus asked suddenly.

Surprised by the apparent subject change, Harry shook his head. "No way!" he replied honestly. "I don't think I could have cast the patronus spell at all." He snorted, remembering back to that awful year. "It was hard enough when I did learn it."

"You would be very right. In addition to not having enough skill or knowledge, you also didn't have enough power. I'm sure you'll recall me telling you that even adults have trouble with that spell, and that most can't cast a corporeal one at all?"

Harry nodded. He did remember. At the time, it had made the whole idea seem a lot more daunting; though, he had been determined to learn it, regardless of that. For him, it had seemed a matter of life and death. Of course, he'd been right.

"As a child, you're growing almost all of the time, in minute amounts that are impossible to detect on a day to day basis. Your magical ability does the same thing. And just like physical growth tends to have spurts, so does magical growth. It's just that magical growth does its spurt growth almost all at once, instead of in several smaller spurts. Now, what Yilmez and Rutherford did was like growing three or more inches in an hour."

Hermione winced. "Your balance would be completely shot until you got used to the change," she said, then frowned. "And it would _really_ hurt."

Remus nodded.

Harry did as well, just a little more fervently. "It did!" he exclaimed. "What they did, I mean. At first, it just itched like mad, then it hurt nearly as bad as the cruciatus."

"It still doesn't make any sense though," Harry protested, intent on getting back to the point of the discussion. "How would getting even more be easier?"

"Think of it in percentages."

"Percentages?" Hermione asked, saving Harry the trouble.

"Okay," Remus began slowly, "say the magic level that you are used to dealing with is equal to needing to eat ten apples a day to fuel you. Suddenly needing to eat the three apples that Yilmez eats _and_ the five that Rutherford eats is going to be too much to handle at first. That's nearly doubling the amount you eat. You would need to use that much more energy in order to need that much fuel."

Harry and Hermione both nodded. So far the idea was simple enough. _And_, best of all, it made some sense out of confusion.

"Magical maturation isn't like what's already happened to you. It's merely a natural outgrowth of your body's ability to handle more.

"Continuing with the apple analogy, it's very unlikely that your current influx will exceed three apples or so. Adding two or three to your hypothetical eighteen will be very easy compared to the eight you just added."

Harry smiled then. Put that way, the whole thing didn't seem quite so bad. "And mum's?"

"If you get that, even all of it, adding another eight or so to twenty one - while more daunting than your maturation - still won't seem nearly as difficult as doubling. You'll only be adding a little more than thirty percent power, as opposed to eighty percent. Of course, it should help that you've already learned several techniques for preventing outbursts."

Harry swallowed. Okay, he got that. He really did. It _still_ seemed like a ridiculous amount of power, though.

"Besides, most people only use a percentage of what power they hold anyway - especially those who are exceptionally powerful."

"Why?" Hermione asked, beating him to the question by a fraction of second.

Remus laughed. "Because using magic takes physical energy as well as magical. You just don't notice using minor magics, any more than you notice walking down a hall. Walking was hard work when you first learned how, but now, it takes little to no effort normally. It's the same idea with magic."

Only one thing still bothered Harry. "Would all this make me 'exceptionally' powerful?" he asked warily, even if he already knew what the answer would have to be. He really didn't want to be, despite the fact that it would certainly help against the dark lord.

Remus paused a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yes, Harry, it will. You were already powerful - Corporeal patronus at 13? - and all of this is just adding to that."

Harry wrapped his arms across his chest. "I don't want to be," he whispered. "I just want to be Harry, plain old, average Harry."

Remus sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Harry, but you were never destined to be average, not even before the events of this summer and your mother's sacrifice."

"Destiny bites!" Harry bit out.

Both Remus and Hermione laughed and Harry pouted in response. That had been a serious complaint. It was _not_ funny.

The rest of the day whipped past at the speed of light, far faster than Harry had been expecting - despite having fun opening presents and having a small birthday party of three - the best birthday he'd ever spent. By the time they settled at the table for dinner, Harry had felt two magical surges, but had kept control of both and one true 'outburst', which had resulted in nothing more extreme than a book slamming shut. That had been caused when Hermione had startled the hell out of him. Of course, she'd been startled right back, so he supposed that wasn't so bad.

As far as he was concerned everything was going very well. He just hoped it continued to do so, because, if this was the pace the whole thing set, he could actually get through it with very little embarrassment at all - or danger. In fact, he was beginning to feel pretty good about it all.

He virtually inhaled his dinner, however, feeling a bit like Ron, and polishing off easily twice what he usually did. He also finished long before either Hermione or Remus were half way done with their comparatively meager dinners. He leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh, deciding he really should be polite and wait to get desert until after his companions had finished eating.

Unfortunately, it smelled _really_ good, and it was driving him crazy, making it very difficult to wait. The scent of the freshly baked apple-cinnamon spice cake filled the room, overpowering the remaining scents of dinner. He hadn't really noticed it all that much until he'd finished eating, but now, he could already bloody taste it!

An object whizzing by his head made him jump and duck. He winced as it crashed into the closed door behind him. Spinning around in his chair, he was completely dismayed to see the cake that he'd just been drooling over smashed into tiny pieces and spread all over the door and floor. The dish it had once sat on, shattered and spread throughout the bits and pieces of cake.

"Tell me, Harry," Remus began drily, "you didn't just _happen_ to be sitting there thinking about that cake did you?"

Harry turned slowly, slumping down in his seat as he did so. "Ummm, no?" he tried.

Remus cocked an eyebrow at him, his look as disbelieving as Harry had ever seen.

"But it smelled _so_ good," he whined.

Hermione's snorted, "boys," was nearly drowned out by Remus' full out laughter.

"I guess we'll have to come up with something else for desert," he said, pulling his wand and spelling away the sticky desert and broken ceramic.

x-x-x

Harry and Hermione watched as Remus swept all the sitting room furniture to two sides of the room. Mystified, they traded glances then returned their attention to what Remus was doing.

Harry grinned suddenly as Remus conjured a bullseye target.

"But we're not allowed to do magic outside of school yet," Hermione protested, obviously having caught on to what Remus was planning.

Harry frowned at her, but had to admit, he didn't exactly want to get in trouble with the ministry, especially so soon after the beginning of summer debacle.

"I'll let the two of you in on a little secret - as long as you swear to tell no one else who's still in school."

They both nodded eagerly. "I swear," they replied in stereo.

"In a place like Grimauld, that is steeped in magic, underage magic use won't be detected by the ministry as long as no wand is used. Add in the fact that this place is under the fidelius and you're even better protected."

Harry grinned. This was going to be great! For the last month of summer, he and Hermione could practice magic without the pressures of school - or Malfoy.

"I just bet the purebloods already know," Hermione snarled bitterly, her expression twisted.

Remus nodded. "The restriction of underage magic use is there for two main reasons. The first reason protects the secrecy of the wizarding world by preventing children - who invariably lack discretion - from using magic where they can be seen by muggles. The second reason is to prevent magical injury where the victim cannot reach a magical hospital quickly."

Hermione's frown deepened. "Which is, obviously, directed mainly at muggleborn and muggleraised children."

Again Remus nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. Those are the children most at risk in both scenarios."

"So, if there was a place for those children to go in a magical environment that had, say, proper magical supervision, then they could use magic?"

"The way the law is written, Harry, no. Technically speaking, the law actually does include the children raised in wizarding homes. It's simply not always enforced by the parents, and it's far harder for the ministry to catch the instances of magic use. To _legally_ allow underage magic use, the supervision would have to take place in a school setting."

Hermione grinned suddenly. "That's easy, just open a day school that's open during the summer."

Harry's grin matched Hermione's. "Attendence wouldn't be required, of course," he added.

"No, it'd be more like a . . . study group, with a teacher in attendence," Hermione agreed.

Remus laughed. "I doubt you're going to find any of the professors that are willing to give up their summers."

Harry snorted. "I can just picture the poor person asking Sn- Professor Snape to do it," he said, snickering.

Hermione's mouth twitched in response, but she shook her head. "Do you have to be a master in order to teach?"

"No, you simply have to have passed the subject you're teaching with at least an EE on your NEWTS. Of course, those who pass with an O, tend to get hired far more quickly and easily."

"Unless you're going for the DADA position at Hogwarts," Harry inserted drily.

They all laughed in response to that. None of them thought that Lockhart could have possibly scored very high on any of his NEWTS - unless, of course, it happened to be a NEWT in smiling or posing.

"How is all that going to do us any good, though?" Harry asked. "If we still can't use our wands without risking ministry detection."

"Harry, did you use your wand to over summon the cake?"

"Well, no, but that was accidental," Harry admitted. "I just _really_ wanted some of that cake."

Remus nodded. "That's the base of most accidental magic; you have to 'really' want it to happen - consciously or subconsciously, either one. That also ties into the key to all wandless magic, accidental or purposeful. Willpower."

"Willpower," Harry echoed.

"Yes. Wandless magic is far more costly than wanded. This is so for a variety of reasons, not the least of which, is the fact that your wand assists you in focusing your power. Without it, you must put far more effort into focusing and concentrating to cast your spells, especially at first. A wand also amplifies the power you use somewhat."

"So, you need to use more of your own power wandlessly to get the same results you would with a wand," Hermione said.

"Yes. Add to that, the amount of physical energy you use goes up as well."

"So, it would be tiring," Harry offered in response.

"Yes, again."

"I knew I'd been exercising all summer for a good reason," Harry exclaimed happily, grinning widely. This hadn't been his reason to do it, but, hey, if it helped. . . .

For the next two hours the three of them worked on wandless spells. Remus, the two of them discovered, could wandlessly cast any spell up to a 3rd year power level, anything after that and it was hit and miss for him.

"Sixth and seventh year level spells and higher are beyond my power level to do wandlessly," he admitted. "I don't know if that's strictly magical power level, or whether my physical health is the limiting factor there, however."

Harry nodded and tried once again to do a wandless levitation. He'd managed a shaky one twice now, lifting a quill a scant few inches off the desk.

Hermione had done a little better, but she still couldn't hold the spell nearly as long, nor as easily as she did with her wand.

Both were sweating by the time Remus called a halt to the evening's practice session.

"What this will also help with, Harry, is using up some of your excess energy, both physical and magical, and should tone down any accidental magic. Depending on the size of a particular surge, or depth of emotion powering the magic, it may not prevent it completely, of course. It will, however, reduce the excess power you have available to power the outbursts."

"Thanks, Remus!" Harry exclaimed, knowing this was going to help at least as much as everything else he was doing. With everything they were coming up with, he might actually get past all this before school actually started.

After they all said their good nights, Harry went to his room in an even better mood than when he'd woke up. All in all, in was the best birthday he could recall ever having, in spite of all the problems he was currently dealing with.

TBC  
Kiristeen ke Alaya  
Feedback: is the ink with which I write! Please review.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plotline contained in this story. I will make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. It is solely for entertainment value.

Thank you, Sagotan and Miyugi! You two gave me the impetus I needed to post this today. : )  
Sagotan: While I can't answer some of your questions because it would be spoilers for the rest of the series, I can say that I agree with your points about the developing relationship (for lack of a better word) between Harry and Snape. Only the future - well and me, I suppose lol - know just how that will turn out. As for Draco and Lucius in regards to Harry. How that works out is already written into the story line. : ) I hope you enjoy where it goes.

Kiri

xxxxxxxxxx  
Chapter Four  
xxxxxxxxxx

Harry woke bright and early the morning they were all to leave for King's Cross, fully ready to head back to school. Though he did have a few reservations about his control, he hadn't had any bouts with accidental magic since the second week of August, a week after Snape's one and only visit. The surges themselves had almost disappeared, happening less than two to three times a week now. Remus told him he was fairly certain he'd mastered his own growth and was now dealing with the extra from his mother.

"Alright, you lazy lumps!" Mrs. Weasley shouted from the hall. "Time to get up! Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes!"

Harry laughed when Ron hollered back. "We're up already!" He vaguely heard it echoed by Ginny from across the hall. He didn't hear Hermione's response, as it was obviously far more quiet and, he assumed, far more polite.

Ron and Ginny had come to stay at Grimauld for the last three weeks of summer and the four of them'd had a wonderful time; though Ron had been a bit disgusted with Harry when he'd insisted on maintaining not only his summer exercise routine, practicing his bio-feedback, continuing his meditation and occlumency, but _also_ actually finishing his summer school work before the end of summer. He didn't want to do it on the train this year. He actually had the luxury of finishing it properly this year, of showing what he was truly capable of.

Harry snorted. That disgust held nothing on Ron's reaction to his and Hermione's idea of a summer school. He'd looked at them as if they'd been completely out of their minds.

"What are you up to?" Ron asked as he walked into the library.

"Working on a summer school idea."

"What?"

Harry laughed, but beside him, Hermione bristled.

"It's a good idea, Ronald, even if _you_ don't think so."

"It's completely barmy, that's what it is!" Ron exclaimed, dropping down beside them. "We already go to school most of the year; why would _anyone_ want to go in the summer as well?"

Hermione huffed, but Harry lay his hand on her arm, cutting off her rant, as she turned to frown at him.

"Haven't you ever wanted to cast magic during the summers?" he asked quietly, hoping to bring Ron on board. It would be so much more fun if all three of them worked on it together. It'd be like all their adventures before . . . only this one wouldn't be dangerous.

"Well, of course, I have, Harry. Who hasn't?" Ron retorted, rolling his eyes. "Doesn't mean I want to spend summer in school, just to do it."

"Well, it wouldn't be a _real_ school, Ron," Hermione huffed.

Ron's eyes narrowed. "It wouldn't?"

Harry shook his head at the same time as Hermione. "No. We have to have a Professor there 'supervising' in order to make it all legal, but it wouldn't be. . . ."

"Structured like school," Hermione finished after Harry trailed off, unable to find the right word.

"You mean there'd be no homework?"

Harry laughed. "No, Ron, no homework. There wouldn't even be assignments as such."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'as such'?"

"It'd be kinda like the DA," Hermione replied.

"Oh!" Ron exclaimed. "Well, that's alright, then."

The next hour was spent ironing out what the three of them wanted out of the day school.

"I still say we should have quidditch there, too," Ron insisted.

Hermione _growled_, and Harry was certain it was because she was getting tired of Ron's obsession. Not that _he_ was any less for it, but he'd been smart enough to keep it to himself after the first time the idea was raised. He didn't like conflict. "This is about evening things up between the pureblood elite who can pretty much do magic any bloody time they want to, and the muggleborn and raised that can't."

Ron scowled, crossing his arms across his chest as he glared at her. "I _know_ that, Hermione," he bit out angrily. "But have you noticed there are almost never any muggleborns on any of the teams at school? Harry's the only muggle raised."

Hermione opened her mouth for what looked to be an automatic retort of some sort, but, frowning, she snapped it closed. "No, I hadn't noticed that," she replied quietly. "But, that doesn't make any sense," she continued, speaking almost to herself. "It's not as if brooms are all that difficult."

Harry snorted, gaining Hermione's instant, irate attention. "So says the girl who refuses to ever get _on_ one."

"Just because I don't like them," she snapped back, "doesn't mean I couldn't if I wanted to, Harry James Potter."

"He knows that, Hermione," Ron replied before Harry could recover from his surprise at the strength of her comeback. "But, you're not comfortable on a broom, are you?" he asked.

Hermione's frown deepened. "A lot of people aren't comfortable on a broom," she replied defensively.

Ron nodded, but surprisingly seemed to change the subject . . . slightly. "Do you know how old I was my first time on a broom?"

Hermione shook her head.

Harry couldn't figure out what that had to do with anything.

"I was two."

Hermione stiffened, sitting straight up, outrage written in every line of her body. "Somebody let you get on a broom at _TWO_?"

"Not by myself, obviously," Ron retorted, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, well then," Hermione replied, trailing off uncomfortably. "Sorry."

"No worries," Ron replied, shrugging. "The first time I was on one by myself was on my 6th birthday." He grinned sheepishly. "It was just a kid's model. It wouldn't go more than two feet off the floor and its best speed was about as fast as I could walk."

Harry snickered, suddenly picturing a tiny version of Ron on a broom that inched across the room.

Ron threw him a quick glare, but his heart obviously wasn't in it, because a canary eating grin quickly replaced it. "It was the best broom ever as far as I was concerned."

Hermione's mouth twitched and Harry could almost hear the 'awwwww, that's _so_ cute,' that wanted to tumble out of her mouth. She resisted admirably, Harry thought. "Your point being?" she asked.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"No," Hermione snapped back. "If it was, I wouldn't have asked."

"When was the first time you got on a broom?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I was almost 12, Ron, you know that as well as I do."

"Which of us should be more comfortable on one then?" he asked.

"Well, you, obviously," Hermione replied, obviously not seeing his point.

"No muggleborn even _knows_ about flying brooms until they're ready for Hogwarts. Given that they can't fly at home, even after they come to Hogwarts, and the only time we fly at school is in first year flying class and for quidditch, how are muggleborns supposed to _get_ comfortable on one?"

Harry was absolutely, positively not laughing - not even mentally - at Hermione's sudden impression of an out of water fish. He wasn't! Okay, maybe he was. It wasn't often he got the chance to see his very brainy friend completely flumuxed.

"Okay, you're right," Hermione said tentatively, visibly pulling herself together, "I just don't see what's so important about it."

Harry winced as Ron's expression darkened. _Wrong answer,_ he thought, scrambling for a way to head off the coming storm and coming up completely blank.

"Not everyone is as good at school as you are, Hermione!" Ron snapped, leaping to his feet.

"I know that!" Hermione snapped back, also standing.

"For some of us, quidditch is the only chance we have of actually making something of ourselves! I'm sorry if that insults your brainpower, but if you're _really_ intending on helping the muggleborn, then help all of them, not just the ones that are like you, otherwise, you're just as bad as the people like Malfoy!" Ron snarled, spun around and all but ran from the room.

Hermione gasped, tears filling her eyes. She turned to look at Harry. "I suppose you're angry at me too?" she half snapped, half asked.

Harry shook his head. "No, but I do see his point," he replied carefully.

At that, Hermione's tears overflowed and spilled down her face.

Harry felt like a heel. He hadn't meant to make her feel worse. But, he knew this was going to fester if it didn't get out in the open. "You're my best friend - female version - Hermione, and I don't want to make you feel bad, ever. But, I have to admit that sometimes, you make me feel that you don't think we're good enough because we're not as good at school as you are, that we're not as smart as you are."

"No, Harry!" Hermione protested instantly, looking faintly horrified. "I just want you two to be the best you can be."

"I know," Harry replied, sighing. "How would you feel if Ron and I kept telling you that you had to come play quidditch, that your studies weren't important at all, were, in fact, a waste of time?"

"I wouldn't like it," Hermione replied almost as quickly as before. "It- It would make me think you didn't know me at all," she continued slowly.

Harry didn't say anything in response. He knew he didn't have to. He just let her think it through. A few moments later, he was proven right. She gasped.

"I'm sorry, Harry!" she exclaimed. "I never realized."

Ron hadn't been as quick to forgive as Harry had been, not that it had come as a surprise to either of them, but eventually things had smoothed over between the three of them. Of course, Hermione's last second admonishment had helped that along.

_"That doesn't mean that I'm not going to harass you into doing your homework, Ronald Weasley," Hermione said tartly._

Ron grinned widely at her, throwing an arm over her shoulder. "Of course not," he agreed amiably. "You wouldn't be you, if you didn't."

"But I will try to be less. . . ."

"Obnoxious?" Ron offered, grinning.

Hermione glared. "forceful, about it."

"I can live with that," Ron replied easily.

Harry had breathed a sigh of relief.

Almost every other spare minute - not that there were many left - was spent simply hanging out together, playing chess and exploding snap - their ideas about the school slipping into all aspects at least a few times as each of them thought up new ideas. Unfortunately, he didn't manage the last three nearly as much as he - or Ron - would have liked. There were only so many hours in the day, and with Ron staunchly refusing to join him in his 'insane running' from the bottom of the house to the top and back again multiple times a day, it didn't leave a whole lot of free time to just goof around.

He'd thought it before, and he'd think it again, 'being mature sucked!' It was awfully boring, too.

Of course, with Ron and Ginny, came Mrs. Weasley's near constant presence as well, which made it all the more difficult to actually find time to practice his wandless magic. He and Hermione had to avoid all three Weasleys to do so - since they'd sworn not to tell anyone that they knew about the loophole in the underage magic restriction. Harry managed it a bit more often than Hermione, simply because she'd been a saint about the whole thing and had distracted the Weasleys a couple times a week to allow him to expend his excess magical energy. That had been particularly helpful once his mother's magic started to affect his fluxes and outbursts - something he hadn't really expected to even notice after Remus' apple description.

While Remus had been right that it hadn't been as hard as what he'd gotten from Yilmez and Rutherford, it still hadn't been the walk in the park Harry had been hoping for, either.

Hermione was the only one who joined him for any of his exercises, but even she refused point blank to run the stairs with him. She was, instead, doing what he'd been doing at the beginning of the summer - running in place and dodging obstacles - and doing what she called aerobics. Harry called it dancing, something _he_ refused to do. He knew what he looked like when he tried and he had absolutely no intention of making himself look like an idiot. He did that often enough without trying. Hermione had agreed to run with him when they got back to school, 'on flat, solid ground' as she put it.

He was already ready to go, so he was in no hurry to climb off his bed. He'd just end up getting in Ron's way, since he was running around the room like a half crazed chicken trying to find his missing 'lucky' socks - the bright orange ones. He was having fun watching his friend go nutters with his last minute packing anyway. He smirked to himself. He'd finally found a real, honest to goodness benefit to being mature. He got to sit back and watch the chaos instead of participating in it. It was a chaos that Harry could hear echoed outside their room as Ginny was pretty much doing the same thing as Ron.

How it could be that way every year, though, Harry didn't understand. The family had been doing this for years, surely they should have it down to an art form by now. But no, Mrs Weasley had already shouted up the stairs at them four times to get a move on or they were going to have to skip breakfast in order to make the train in time. That's what had finally lit a fire under Ron. Food was his friend's holy grail - not that Mrs. Weasley would ever make good on that particular threat.

"I can't find them _anywhere_, Harry," Ron whined. "Are you sure you haven't seen them?"

Shaking his head, Harry finally climbed out of bed and immediately dropped to his knees to look under Ron's bed. When Ron lost something, it could usually be found there. Sure enough, that was where they were, along with many other things - some of which Harry had no clue what were. Frankly, he didn't _want_ to know what some of them were, he thought with a shudder as he stood and handed his find to Ron.

"Thanks, Mate!"

He dressed quickly in his new clothes that - to his completely embarrassed pride - Mrs. Weasley'd, had to alter less than a month after he'd bought them.

Harry stared down at his bare ankles in dismay. He'd just bought these! Why-? He darted out of his room, hoping Mrs. Weasley had already arrived for the day.

"Mrs. Weasley!" he called out as he reached the ground floor landing.

"In the kitchen, dear," she called back.

He dashed down to the kitchen, skidding to a halt just before crashing into the table that dominated the room.

Mrs. Weasley's eyes widened. "Something wrong, Dear?"

He nodded. "Yes!" Stepping away from the table, he cast a look down and held his arms out to the side.

Mrs. Weasley chuckled. "Looks like you gained about an inch."

"But my clothes fit yesterday!"

"Sometimes, during magical growth, your body gets a bit of a jolt, too. Nothing wrong with that."

"But an _inch_," Harry exclaimed in disbelief, "_overnight_?" Who'd heard of such a thing?

"Yes, dear," she replied, still smiling. "Sometimes more; though, that doesn't happen often. You'll probably put on a couple more before you're done."

"But I _just_ bought these!" he protested. He'd been so happy to finally have clothes that actually fit, and now they wouldn't. The only difference would be that now they'd be too small, instead of too big. He wasn't altogether certain he didn't prefer it the other way round. At least that was more comfortable.

"I'm sure there's at least a little seam allowance for growth, Harry. Madam Malkim usually adds that in automatically for youngsters. You do have a tendency to outgrow your clothing, after all. Once we're reasonably sure you're done with your surprise growth spurts, I'll let them out for you, and if necessary, magically enlarge them a bit. That's best done not more than once, since any more than that starts to weaken the material. Clothing doesn't take real well to sizing charms."

"But what'll I do in the meantime?" he asked. He'd thrown out all of his old things the moment he'd got home from his shopping trip. He didn't have anything left.

"Borrow something of Ron's, Dear. It'll likely be too long, but that's better than too tight."

Harry sighed, nodding. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," he said, turning and heading back upstairs. He tried telling himself it wasn't such a bad thing to happen - all things considered. He really was rather tired of being so very short. At five feet, five and a half inches, he was the shortest boy in his year, but worse than that, he was shorter than almost all the girls too! Only two of them were shorter than him, and those two were _tiny_! Maybe, if he grew enough, Madam Pomfrey would stop referring to him as 'delicate'. He _hated_ that.

By the time he reached his room, he'd almost convinced himself and was wondering just how much he'd grow. Picturing himself at a respectable 6 foot one or two, was rather pleasing actually. At least then he'd be taller than Malfoy. Harry frowned. Unless the prat was having the same growth spurts he was.

Harry shook his head. In the end, Mrs. Weasley had, had to let out the seam the full inch of the built in allowance and magically stretch the material two and a half inches more, so he hadn't met his 'wish height'. But then, five foot nine wasn't such a bad height. It certainly beat what he'd been before hands down.

Hurrying from the room, lugging his trunk, he discovered that Ginny was still not doing much better than Ron; though, she appeared to missing a necklace and her favorite pair of earrings, rather than a pair of 'lucky' socks. Rolling his eyes, he headed down the hall. Hermione was already there, waiting in the hall with her trunk beside her. They made their way downstairs together, both laughing at the increasingly frantic shouts that always seemed to start with 'where is my. . . .' Only the endings varied the slightest.

They pulled their trunks to the side of the entry hall against the wall, making sure they were out of the way of anyone passing through. Both shaking their heads at the continuing chaos, Harry feeling rather smug that _this_ time he was ready ahead of time, they headed for the kitchen.

"Hello, Dears," Mrs. Weasley greeted them brightly as she hurried past them. "Food's on the table, keeping warm. Help yourselves." Huffing, Mrs. Weasley stepped just outside the room. "Ron! Ginny! Hurry it up! You've got two minutes!"

He and Hermione laughed, both shaking their heads. They'd only just managed to dish themselves up and begin eating when Mrs. Weasley hurried back into the room.

She sighed heavily, never slowing as she bustled around the kitchen. "As usual," she muttered, gathering up a couple bowls and dishing the various breakfast foods into them, "they're going to be eating on the way."

Hermione huffed. "Maybe they might learn if you made them miss it once."

Harry laughed at Mrs. Weasley's horrified look. "I couldn't do that!" she exclaimed.

Both he and Hermione chuckled at her horrified outrage, and Harry couldn't resist teasing her just a little. "Oh, I don't know; it might just sink into Ron's head if he had to walk out of room filled with food without eating any of it."

"Oh, you!" Mrs Weasley huffed, chuckling, suddenly realizing they were teasing her.

Minutes later, their dishes were cleaned up, courtesy of Mrs. Weasley's wand and they were making themselves comfortable on top of their trunks. Hermione immediately crossed her legs, pulling herself into the stereotypical meditation pose - pinched fingers and all - and Harry shrugged, following suit; though, he chose his normal cross legged position, palms resting lightly on his knees, rather than the one Hermione had chosen. It felt too uncomfortable to him and made the whole process more difficult for him. Breathing deeply and slowly, he sank into a light trance state. It didn't take him long, anymore, the ease with which he successfully meditated improving almost every time he did it - something he was becoming proud of. The sounds around them were slowly relegated to insignificance as he found peace within the trance, leaving only a small portion of his attention spared for anything out of the ordinary.

x-x-x

"What are you doing now, Potter?"

Hermione groaned mentally. _Not now,_ she whined silently, not daring to do so out loud. She waited, not moving. She hadn't been addressed, after all.

"Potter!"

_Isn't he going to answer?_ She opened her eyes in time to see Harry turning his head to face the professor.

"Hello, Sir," Harry replied, sounding remarkably polite and respectful. She was impressed. She knew damned well that Harry wasn't _feeling_ the way he was acting.

Professor Snape sneered. "I asked you a question, Potter!"

"We were meditating, Sir" Harry replied, his voice still quite calm, almost as though he were still in trance.

"Meditating?" the professor scoffed, still sneering. "Looked more like sleeping to me."

Before Harry could respond to the accusation, however, the professor continued, his tone growing even more scathing.

"Still not thinking through your actions, Potter? What would have happened if someone who sided with the dark lord managed to get in? Hmmm?" he snarled, moving well inside Harry's personal space. "They would have taken you by surprise, just as I did, Potter. Then, where would you be?"

"I heard you come in, Professor," Harry said softly, his gaze not dropping from the professor's.

"Typical! Which means, either you're lying again to save your hide, or you ignored me when I questioned you. If we were at school, you would be serving-"

"I'm not lying, Professor," Harry inserted quietly. "Nor did I ignore you. I simply knew you weren't a threat, so-"

"Don't interrupt!" the professor snapped.

"-I took my time coming out of trance instead of wrenching myself out of it."

Hermione winced at the second interruption, wanting nothing more than to jump up and intercede, before the encounter escalated terribly. She had learned a lot this summer too, however, and knew that Harry had to deal with this on his own to truly move passed it. She remained silent by only the thinnest of margins, however. It simply wasn't in her nature to stand aside while someone else was falsely accused - something that had cost her more house points than she cared to recall at the moment.

"You insolent little-"

Again, Harry didn't let him finish, smoothly continuing his explanation as if the professor hadn't said anything at all

"It's healthier that way," he said

Professor Snape stiffened, glaring angrily, but surprisingly didn't push the issue. She wondered if that had anything to do with what had happened the last time the two had tangled. "_Next_ time you choose to goof around, Potter, make sure you do it out of everyone else's way!" he snapped.

"We did, Sir," Harry replied quietly.

Hermione was beyond surprised that Harry didn't add anything refuting the 'goofing around' comment, but was proud of him for it. It wouldn't have made a bit of difference in the professor's attitude, except perhaps to make him angrier, so it would have only served to frustrate Harry even more than he had to already be. It was all she could do to restrain the wide smile that wanted to spill across her face - despite how angry she was at the professor.

"Dont contradict me, Potter!" Professor Snape snapped.

It was then that Hermione saw the twitch. Harry was fast losing the battle to hold on to his temper, and she sincerely hoped the professor would leave off soon, or Harry's triumph would become failure instead. Harry needed a success.

"Did you, at least, make sure you were ready to leave first?" Professor Snape demanded.

Harry nodded. "Yes, Sir," he replied; though, this time, Hermione could hear the tightness with which he spoke.

Professor Snape snarled and spun away, striding toward the sound of Molly Weasley's voice, once again raised to be heard two stories up.

The moment Professor Snape was out of sight - and hearing range - Harry turned toward her, the smile on his face bright. "I did it!" he exclaimed in a loud whisper.

Hermione frowned, confused. "Did what, Harry?"

"Kept my temper, of course," he replied. "What else would I have meant?"

"I'm proud of you, Harry," she said carefully, knowing he needed the encouragement, but was not able to let it rest at that alone. "But it seemed like you were getting pretty angry there at the end."

Harry snorted. "Oh, I didn't say I wasn't angry," he replied wryly, "and frustrated, for that matter, but I didn't lose control like I usually do with him." He stood slowly, his grin widening even more. "I didn't even have to grit my teeth!"

"Good point," Hermione admitted. "Being angry and losing your temper are two different things entirely."

Harry beamed. "Maybe I can do this after all," he admitted. "I wasn't sure until now." He frowned then, biting his lip indecisively. "Do I need to admit that just coming up from meditation helped . . . a lot?" he asked. "I just felt too . . . peaceful to let anything get to me at first - even him."

Hermione laughed. "No, Harry, you don't. That's what meditation is for, after all, to help you find and maintain your center of calm. Just remember, his opinion of you doesn't matter in the least. He is how he is, and nothing you can do will change that," she said with a small shrug. "Just don't carry that too far and stop listening to the other things he says," she warned. "Just because his opinion of you is very skewed, doesn't mean he doesn't know what he's talking about in other areas."

Harry snorted then. "I do know that, Hermione."

"Good," she said firmly. Harry had a tendency to go to exremes sometimes - though, not as often nor as deeply as Ron did - and she wanted to nip that in the bud if she could.

It wasn't long before a double, repeated, thud, thud, thud, caught their attention and both of them turned toward the staircase where Ron and Ginny were dragging their trunks down the stairs.

Hermione sighed, standing, feeling the last of her meditative calm slipping away with the irritating noise. She could only imagine just what it was going to do to the professor's temper.

x-x-x

Harry frowned, heading immediately toward the siblings. "Why didn't you just carry it, Ron?" he asked as he met them a third of the way up the stairs. He took Ginny's trunk in hand and carried it for her, reducing the noise by half. "It certainly would have been quieter."

Ron shrugged. "Too much bother," he replied with a shrug, continuing to let the trunk thud down the stairs behind him, completely oblivious to Harry's growing irritation.

He frowned at the uncaring response. "You really should-" His words cut off as an odd thought hit him. _-think about other people, Ron,_ the sentence completed silently. Harry's frown deepened as he reached the main floor landing and set Ginny's trunk next to his and Hermione's. _**That** is what everyone keeps accusing me of; what Professor Snape says I do?_ he thought incredulously. Sure, there had been times he'd been wrong about what he was thinking. He'd made mistakes, wrong assumptions, hadn't always thought all the way through to every single consequence of his actions, but he had _never_ been so thoughtlessly unaware of the effect of his actions on other people. He really didn't like it that _anyone_ saw him that way. He certainly didn't want to _be_ that way. That was the way his cousin acted.

"I really should what, Harry?" Ron asked, looking at him oddly.

Harry shook his head, knowing all too well, just how Ron would react if he completed that sentence. "Nothing important, Ron," he replied, smiling at his friend. "You finally all ready?" he asked instead of doing so.

Ron nodded. "Yep," he replied, then shook his head. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm glad to be getting back to school."

Laughing, Harry shook his head. "Hermione must be rubbing off on you."

Hermione's indignant, 'hey'; Ginny's laugh; and Ron's instant blush, washed away the final taste of anger toward Snape. A new year had begun, and Harry was determined that this one, was going to be the best yet. Not that, that would exactly be difficult, considering his other years at Hogwarts. He just really hoped it was less . . . _exciting_ than his summer had started out.

"It's about time you got ready!" Mrs Weasley snapped as they reached the foyer. "It's time to go."

"But, Mum!" Ron instantly protested, "we haven't eaten yet. I'm hungry!"

"Tough!" she snapped back at him. "You'll have to eat in the car again. If you want to eat a full breakfast, you should be ready on time."

Harry's 'Hermione and I were ready last night,' was kept behind his teeth only barely. He _so_ wanted to gloat!

He sighed, heading for the door, instead. Several someones would be upset with him if he did gloat - including himself - which made it not worth the effort. Besides, he sneered to himself, _it isn't **mature**_. Unfortunately, he wasn't exactly feeling very mature right now.

Once out the door - with Mrs. Weasley herding them like an English sheepdog herded sheep - it didn't take them all long to load their things, and themselves, into the ministry supplied cars and they were finally on their way to Kings Cross, off to begin a new year at school.

The end of episode Two  
Episode Three is "Shifting Perceptions" Be on the lookout for it soon.  
Kiristeen ke Alaya  
Feedback: is the ink with which I write! Please review.


End file.
